Monday, October 17, 2005

Humor / commentary: Bank Stuffed Animal Giveaway... What?

Recently I heard a commercial for a local bank, celebrating their birthday, by passing out "cute, fuzzy bears". If I’d been drunk, that would have sobered me up quick. I felt the world tilt, and was sure Rod Serling would appear any moment, informing me I'd successfully arrived in hell. After over thirty years of dealing with banks, I guarantee I'd never frequent one passing out stuffed animals. What's wrong with this picture?

Every industry has a personality. Banks are; exacting, accurate, profit-oriented and dare I say it, anal retentive. Occasionally a few of them go through a phase in advertising how "friendly" they are. Give me a break. They led the way in denying employee benefits to tellers and other wage slaves, by offering only part-time work. The doors at my bank are always in high rotation, with the turnover, and I’m going to believe that someone "knows" me? However, when I need real help, these folks have done a good job.

I Had a small business attempt to double-bill me, claiming the bank didn't do their job and "lost" my money. When I ran this tale by an accounts officer, he suddenly bestowed upon me, a business card and internal management contact information. They may not be friendly, but I'd hate to be on the wrong end of their legal department. I'd get very worried, if my big, impersonal bank presented me with a fuzzy little bear.

This is a mixture of inappropriate images. Like having the guy who runs the local funeral home pass out samples of his wife's chocolate cake, while you’re burying uncle Charlie. I considered where it would fit to be presented with a cute fuzzy bear. The flower shop, candy store, or a local fast-food restaurant. It would not even make sense, to me, if the luxury hotel I favor, handed out stuffed animals.

I'd love to speak to the advertising crew that dreamed up this craziness. Their demographics must be amazing. So trot right down to your local bank’s birthday party... And with cute "fuzzy" in tow, meander to the nearest bar and drink a toast, or seven, or eight, until this all makes sense!

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