Don't Bank On It

Saudi banks put the "cuss" and the "vice" into "customer service".
I'd put it off as long as I could but I finally had to admit defeat and open a bank account here. I headed to the bank early in the morning as I'd been told that it's the quietest time.
I walk in and take a ticket from the machine. "Not bad", I think to myself, "only six customers to go." Really, I've lived here long enough. I should not be so naïve.
Time passes.
It becomes apparent why the only people sitting and waiting are all foreign workers. Anyone wearing a thobe and ghutra assumes that the ticket system is only for fools and foreigners. They all proceed to push in where ever they please. I make a mental note to wear Saudi national dress for my next bank visit.
Time passes. Despite my best efforts my blood pressure rises. I notice my foot is vibrating rapidly. It's getting impatient.
Finally! It's my turn! I race to get to the counter before a queue jumper steals my spot.
Me: salaam alaykum
Bank teller: alaykum salaam
I think: "hey this is going well!"
Me: I'd like to open an account please
Bank teller: *look of horror* English?!?
Me: Aww no way….
Time passes. I wonder if I'll still be sitting in the bank when my birthday comes around. It's only a few months away.
My paper work is examined in minute detail. To open an account you need your Iqama, a photocopy of your passport that has been stamped by your company, and for some reason you also need a stamped letter from your company stating your salary. I see him examine this letter. He looks at me. I wonder what he is thinking.
The papers are examined again. It feels like they are searching for any excuse to delay having me as a customer. My money is neither needed nor wanted.
The paper work passes the test. A thick A4 application booklet is produced. I shut my eyes in dismay. If Charles Dickens books were released in A4, this is how big they'd be.
I'm instructed to fill out my Iqama number, Iqama expiry date, Iqama place of issue, and my name and my nationality in at least five separate areas. I don't know any of my Iqama details because it's all in Arabic. He gives me the patronising look you'd give an idiot and in a leisurely manner produces one copy of the details in English for me.
Me: Why don't we just fill it out once and photocopy it?
Bank teller: *blank look*
It's not looking like he is going to let me fill the form out whilst sitting in front of him! My heart sinks even lower. The mattress in my apartment is starting to look like a better and more secure place to store my money. Perhaps I should bury it in the garden?
Another form is produced. I have to reproduce the Iqama number, Iqama expiry date, Iqama place of issue, name and nationality again on this form. I also need my address. Damn. I don't know my address! I know that like all postal addresses its just a PO box and a post code. But as post in Saudi is delivered by stage coach (possibly) I've never dared use it.
A frantic phone call ensues. My wife finds the address for me.
The bank teller is writing a phone number on the application mega-booklet. Why is he doing that?
Bank Teller: Fill out this *points* and this *points* and this *points* and this *points* and this *points* and this *points* and this *points* and also this. Oh, and of course all of these *multiple points*
He gives me an embarrassed and perhaps slightly sympathetic look.
Bank Teller: After you fill out the form call this number. Tell them you want to open a bank account and they will begin your application.
A short stunned silence follows.
I wait for the punch line but none is forthcoming. So I am in the branch of the bank, but I have to call the bank to proceed with my account application?
I stand up and walk over to the counter to fill out my form. I look around to check that I am not on Candid Camera. This isn't a hoax, its really happening!
Time passes as I fill out the same information repeatedly on a dozen copied forms. I drift away to happier times. I recall the last time I opened a bank account, in a land far far away. There was a private room. There was tea and polite chit chat. There was some enjoyable sycophancy. It was all over in a pleasant twenty minutes.
I finish the forms as quickly as I can and call the phone number. It's a recorded message! Of course it is! Why didn't I guess?! It says something in Arabic and then in English it says "Welcome to Piss Take Bank, where we take our time taking your money!" (Possibly)
The message then reels off about one hundred different options in Arabic. I have no idea what I am listening to. This goes on for at least a minute. I think I'm getting dizzy. Then RIGHT AT THE END it says "Press 2 for English". I want to scream. Are they insane?! Why didn't it say this at the bloody start?!? If I wanted Hindi I wonder whether I'd now have to sit through all the English options too.
I now realise why the security guards don't have guns in this branch. Angry customers would grab them and shoot the staff.
I press 2.
I get cut off.
With a low growl I put the phone down.
I consider opening my own bank in Saudi. I could stand in the street with a large suitcase and simply throw my customers money inside it. I'd do it with a smile. I'm sure people would prefer it to this.
I call the number again. I press 2 immediately and to my shock and delight I get through to someone. I explain I want to open a bank account. I expect him to ask me why I am calling him if I am standing in a branch of the bank. But he doesn't. Instead he asks me for some details. He wants to know my Iqama number, Iqama expiry date, Iqama place of issue, name, and nationality. I blink rapidly. I have just filled out this information ten times! Read my damned form for crying out loud! Is this some sort of sick joke?!
In a tired, resigned voice I repeat the details I now know by heart. Everything has to be repeated three times. My patience astonishes me.
I don't hear the clicking of a keyboard through the phone. Is he actually taking these details down? Or does he have all his friends around the phone, having a laugh at the stupid Englishman who thinks he has to call the bank whilst standing in the bank so he can open a bank account?
The phone conversation is over. I'm given a number and instructed to go back to the queue and complete my application.
With sagging shoulders I go and get another ticket and sit down.
There are six numbers ahead of mine. There is fifteen minutes to prayer time. It's going to be close. People in thobes push in front of me. By now I understand why. It's going to very close. It's going to be….. Damn. I don't believe this.
I will return tomorrow in the hopes that they honour me with a bank account. I'm worried. If it is this hard to give them my money, how hard is it going to be to get it back?

Saudis deserve better than this.