A few months ago, a check from my employer covering expenses bounced.
Weird, but not a big deal, I thought. I called our business manager and she explained that there was an issue with how the checks had printed. She would just cut a new one for me.
This all sounded fine—except for one thing.
Why was there a “depositor” fee showing on my bank statement?
The business managed had no idea, but suggested I call my bank.
I was willing to shrug the whole thing off at first, but my wife wasn’t going to put up with a $10 fee on a $45 check. Plus, there was the apparent injustice of it.
“Why should we have to pay a fee when we didn’t do anything wrong?”
And she was right: it didn’t make any sense. Why should we be held responsible for someone else’s mistake?
Calling up my bank—a regional credit union, to be specific—didn’t clear anything up either. In fact, it just frustrated us to hear the customer service agent dig their heels in on the fee. Apparently, the bank policy was to charge a $10 “depositor fee” whenever a deposited check bounced. The premise, apparently, was that the depositor (us!) should know better than to deposit a bad check.
“But we’ve deposited dozens of checks from my husband’s employer. How were we to know this one would be bad?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am—that’s the rule. It’s in the terms and conditions you signed when you opened an account.”
“But can’t you see how ridiculous this is?”
“Ma’am, there’s really nothing I can do.”
It went on like this between them, while I frantically searched the Internet in the background.
A-ha.
I showed my wife the page I’d pulled up on my phone. She nodded and pointed at me to speak.
“Excuse me? Husband here. I’m seeing a notice issued by the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau this past October stating that ‘surprise depositor fees’ are likely illegal.”
A moment of silence and then, as if I’d said the equivalent of “open sesame,” the representative briskly refunded the deposit and closed out the call, no further hemming and hawing.
My wife and I looked at each other.
That was all it took?
After savoring the restored $10, the irritation returned. It was clear that our invocation of the CFPB had saved us. But what would stop them from putting us through the wringer again? What would stop them from continuing to levy these “likely illegal” fees on other customers?
I held this glinting fury like a small pocketknife and clicked open my email.
It wasn’t much, but I drafted an email to the bank’s member services account:
Hello,
I was disappointed to learn that your bank continues to practice surprise depositor fees, despite guidance issued by the CFPB in October indicating that such fees are likely illegal under the Consumer Financial Protection Act.
See press release regarding that guidance here:
After a check from my employer bounced several weeks ago, my account was subject to a surprise depositor fee. After speaking with your customer service representatives for over an hour, I was able to secure a refund of the $10 fee—only after referring the representative to the above CFPB guidance.
I’m writing you with the expectation that you address this unfair practice immediately. I joined a credit union specifically in order to avoid the unfair practices of larger national banks. If you are unable to confirm that you will cease from this illegal activity, then I will be looking for a different bank in 2023.
Best,
Taylor
I received a general “thank you” response, but nothing further until the other day, when I got a call.
“Hi! I’m calling to tell you—and I’ve been waiting to make this call for months now—that we have officially stopped charged depositor fees on bad checks.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from my angsty email, but it wasn’t a pleasant phone call explaining that they’d listened to me.
I told her that I was delighted she’d called, and that it reinforced the cited reasons I’d joined the credit union to begin with.
“Yes! I’m delighted, too. In fact, you’ve been Post-It note on my computer for weeks now. I kept asking my colleague when I could call and let you know things were official.”
Afterwards, I reflected on that: being a Post-It note on someone’s desk.
Not really something to aspire to—or is it?
Taylor Coe 