Tim Dowling: how did I end up on a helpline for the old and befuddled?

Certain contractual terms oblige my oldest sons to periodically appear at their places of employment. On rare occasions they both go in on the same day. On this particular day, my wife and the dog are also out. I’m alone in the house.

I’m lingering over lunch – because, why not? – when my phone pings in my pocket. It’s a text from my bank.

“Your address has been updated,” it reads. “If you didn’t make this request … ”

I think: I certainly didn’t.

“ … please contact us urgently.” So much, I think, for lingering over lunch.

I return to my office shed and locate the helpline number on the bank’s website. A robot asks me to speak my reason for calling aloud.

“You told me to call you,” I say. This is not satisfactory. I am given a list of acceptable reasons. I say “No” to all of them. When I’ve exhausted this branch of inquiry, I’m asked to input a bunch of identifying numbers using the keypad. Once I’ve completed this, the bank hangs up on me.

I ring the number again, rephrasing my reason for calling and speaking very slowly. I’m asked if, instead of hold music, I would prefer a soothing tone. I choose hold music, because I want to remain exactly as irritated as I am right now. I soon regret this choice. Eventually, a voice interrupts the song.

“Can I take your full name, please?” she asks. I tell her.

“And can you tell me the reason you’re calling today, please?” In clear and polite English I explain the thrust of the issue, which is: you asked me to contact you if I didn’t make this request.

“And I didn’t,” I say. There is a long silence.

“I’m just going to put you in touch with our … ” The next bit is garbled.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch … ” I say.

“ … who will be able to help you with whatever you need today,” she says.

“OK, well, thank you, I’ll … ” Again loud music fills my left ear. After a few seconds, a recorded voice breaks in.

“You’re being transferred to our 60+ customers maintenance team,” it says.

“I’m what?” I say, to no one. The music stops.

“Thank you for calling,” a voice says. “This is Gareth speaking. How can I help you today?”

Through gritted teeth, I explain everything again. Gareth has clearly been given special training in dealing with confused old people – he speaks very slowly, and treats everything I say with a kind of blank earnestness. I keep thinking: how did I end up here? What did I say that tipped them off?

Gareth’s manner is deeply patronising, but difficult not to lean into. I find myself eager to test the limits of his patience. While he is taking my details again, I interrupt.

“I have a theory, Gareth,” I say, knowing this is the last thing he wants to hear. But Gareth’s 60+ customers maintenance training has taught him not to react to my statement with an audible puff of exasperation – he just leaves a gap where it would have gone.

“OK,” he says. “Please go on.”

I explain: an online bank I’ve used for many years has recently closed, and my savings account has been migrated to a new bank – the bank of Gareth – where coincidentally I also have an account. The online bank probably had an old address for me, which has most likely been updated automatically, which in turn has triggered a text warning, which, in hindsight, I should have ignored.

“Let me just check that for you,” he says. If my theory was meant to make me sound less befuddled, it hasn’t worked. Gareth’s tone has shifted to a new level of indulgent concern, as if he’s just trying to keep me on the line until the ambulance arrives.

“Can you just confirm the balance on that savings account?” he says.

“Absolutely no idea,” I say.

By the time I hang up I feel totally enfeebled. And there is no one at home to complain to.

Eventually, my wife arrives. I recount the whole story, but she laughs in all the wrong places.

“You’re missing the point,” I say.

“I don’t think I am,” she says, suppressing a smile.

“The point is, how did they know?” I say. “What gave me away?”

“Did they ask for your date of birth?” she says.

“Yes,” I say, “but even then they put me through to the customer service for normal people, at least until I spoke.”

I go back to my office, and sit in the gathering dark. This will seem funny later, I think. Nothing to do but wait.