I had to talk to a banker today because my CD reached its maturity date and they require a personal visit if you want to do more than have it roll over. Since the interest rates are horrible on it, I decided to move the $ to another account (at least temporarily) so I can decide how better to invest it (I may need more than the 8 day grace period they provide). While there, they – the bankers – always take the opportunity to try to upsell me on more of their products. I got a credit card pitch, was urged to upgrade my accounts for more benefits (which didn’t seem that great to me, especially since I don’t have their credit card), and was asked about my financial advisor. The last almost made me giggle, because, um, no, I manage my money myself. With occasional family harassment. So when my banker asked whose services I used I said, “Oh, that would be my dad.” “Great!” he said, because he was not going to tell me that I should fire my dad. Once again, it has been proved to me that you don’t fuck with the bank of dad.
It exists! The Bank of Dad!