Too late to thank her, my wife’s death has made me realize what a terrible job she had dealing with all the companies, websites and cyber-traps one encounters trying to do business and deal with finances in today’s America. It also has brought into sharper focus what I had been aware of: that since the pandemic lockdown, customer service live and online has deteriorated to an extent that cannot be justified. When the Biden lackeys (like the execrable Paul Krugman) insist that the economy is wonderful and that the public doesn’t realize how great things are, this aspect of the economy should be thrown in their faces. Maybe elites like Krugman never have to go shopping in person or deal with a company’s website. If they did, they would realize that the quality of life has declined precipitously, and that it is fair to blame inflation (from profligate government spending) and excessive minimum wage levels as well as the remaining carnage from the Wuhan pandemic lockdown.

I hate to point a finger at Wells Fargo, as my bank has generally been more helpful over the past month than almost anyone else, but what follows is a prime example….

Last week I was shocked to be told by my bank that I couldn’t speak to a banker to help me deal with some account problems arising from my wife’s death because none were available. The bank was almost empty. I was told that I had to make an appointment, and since there is no way to reach my branch by phone (you have to maneuver through the general Wells Fargo website and impossible phone trees) a manager said they would call or email with an appointment time for the next day. They did not. My schedule is unmanageable right now, and my needs were urgent: the next morning I was furious, and drove to the bank to throw a fit.

I walked into the bank, pointed at the staffer who promised me an appointment, and said, “Remember me? You said I would be contacted yesterday, and I wasn’t. I’m a 20-year depositor here, and when I need your services at time of crisis, you blow me off like that. It’s unforgivable, and I resent it.” Then she lied—the default method of people who are caught red-handed in today’s ethics-free society—saying that oh no, she had said they would call this day to give me a time for the same day. I pointed at her and the teller to whom I had given my name, email and phone number and in my best stage voice said, “That’s not true, and both of you know that’s not true.” Then the banker who, they finally admitted, had forgotten to call me, took me into an office.

“We had sick tellers yesterday and were overwhelmed,” he said. “Not my problem!” I replied. “That’s Wells Fargo’s problem for being understaffed, and you are not allowed to make it my problem. Do your job. Hire sufficient staff to handle inevitable absences. You’re a billion dollar company: there is no excuse for being understaffed. I was depending on this bank, and when I needed this bank to be reliable and efficient, you let me down.” Then I got the old “I’m just a humble middle manager and don’t have control” excuse, to which my standard answer is that if you aren’t willing to take responsibility for your incompetent superiors, work somewhere else.

Next, everyone started blubbering apologies—the teller, the woman who lied to me, and two bankers— agreeing that they had screwed up, etc. By the time I got the information I needed (it takes two months from the day of Grace’s death to get access to a savings account, and because she died on the 29th, it will be 8 years. OK, I’m kidding about that last part…) it had taken almost two hours and I felt like running amuck on Route 395 with a machete. I did come away with a double-secret direct dial number with a banker there, so that’s something.

Everywhere is understaffed. If that’s a sign of a healthy economy, then I’ve been misunderstanding the term. Most of the staff that is in stores ( and banks) are badly trained, unable to speak clear English, and unprofessional. At CVS, my favorite example of a rotting establishment, I recently was stuck in a line for checkout with no staff members in sight. For the second time in my career of disruption, I picked up the mic at the counter and said, “Attention CVS staff if there is any! Customers are waiting to check out purchases. Please report to the front immediately, or we’re going to Walgreens.” (I got some laughs and scattered applause.) A young man came running, full of apologies. He had an unkempt beard and tangled hair down to his shoulders, and was wearing a T-shirt with some slogan on it and frayed jeans. He’s a nice guy and competent enough, but somebody should explain to him why professional appearance and deportment are habits he needs to acquire.

Now on to Scribd. In reviewing my bank statements, I saw a monthly charge for a subscription to Scribd, the digital library. I had accepted a free three month subscription to access some law books I used in an ethics expert opinion years ago, and promptly forgot about it. I’ve been paying between nine and twelve dollars a month ever since for at least three years. This is all my fault, but what happened next wasn’t.

Scribd has no phone number and no way to contact a live person. Its various bot “customer service reps” led me in circles. I gave my name, my address, the credit card the subscription was charged to, my social security number, and yet all I could get in return was a “ticket,” which meant I could send my request to another bot within 24 hours.

I gave up on the chatbots and tried the website, which claimed that it was easy to cancel a subscription. But I had to log in, and because it had been years since I created the account, I needed a new password. The site promised to send a link to my email. It did not. I asked 16 times. Nothing. Finally I did what I rarely do, and played the lawyer card.

I wrote the website that I had spent over two hours trying to cancel a subscription, and had provided plenty of information to do that. I said that I regarded their system as deliberately deceptive and hard to navigate, and believed that this was a device to frustrate subscribers with business accounts so they would give up and accept the monthly charge. I said I was a lawyer and an ethicist, and that I planned to expose their business practices on the web; moreover, I wrote, if I did not get notice that my subscription had been cancelled by midnight, I would contact one of the many aggressive plaintiffs trial lawyers I knew from working for the trial lawyers association, and persuade one of them to bring a class action law suit against Scribd, as there had to be thousands of others in my position. Indeed, I had found whole websites dedicated to Scribd users victimized by the company’s dastardly customer service, or lack of it.

Fifteen minutes later, I received a cheery email announcing that my subscription was cancelled.