A depressing thing about Chat GPT is when various readers generate something “in the style of writer Ian Whitworth”. Because it always uses a Barefoot Investor tone.
“G’day fellow biz operator! I got home the other night, put the trusty Hilux in the back paddock, and as I was coming through the door I heard a shrieking sound like a possum caught in a rusty gate hinge. Entering the lounge room I realised that noise wasn’t any kind of marsupial. It was Mrs Barefoot reading the bank statements, fair dinkum the monthly fees on those business accounts would make a goldfish shriek.”
So I may as well put on the check shirt and get in there with our own banking tales.
All us non-Barefoot readers pay over the odds for our personal banking services because it’s too hard to move. You know you’ll be weeks in a hell pit of bureaucratic dead-ends to shift somewhere with a mortgage rate half a percent lower.
Imagine what it’s like to move a national business.
For us, it’s 17 years of clients who have our payment details. Hundreds of thousands of dollars locked up in commercial lease bonds, the most soul-killing place to see your hard-earned money sit for decades. All those auto-payment systems hooked up to our existing account.
Changing all that feels like one of those Greek mythological tasks. First, you must slay the nine-headed Hydra. Then you must capture Cerberus, the original dog from Hell. Finally, to achieve business immortality and sit at the god desk atop Olympus, you must change all your transactional banking arrangements.
It takes years to get into the right frame of mind for this task.
Seventeen years ago we opened an account with a major bank because it was near our first office in Hobart. We stayed with them as we opened four more businesses, each a separate company with its own bank account.
We didn’t get much respect from them at first. No continuity of contact staff. No possibility of credit. That’s to be expected for little businesses.
But we grew from a small business to a decent-sized medium business. A hundred-odd full-time staff around the country. Sizeable amounts flowing through those accounts these days.
And as we grew, our relationship with the bank developed as they recognised our increasing value to them.
Just kidding. Right to the end they treated us like a hotdog stand with one Stripe terminal.
Every interaction involved a new bank person, ironically titled relationship manager. Who had never heard of us.
After we explained everything once again, they would promise that they would look after us in future, that things would be different from now on.
It would be the last time we’d ever see that person. These bank relationships had the life cycle of a fruit fly. We resigned ourselves to the fact that that’s just how it is.
Then, a faint ray of hope from Adelaide.
I’ve written before on why Adelaide people are the national hospitality champions. They really do look after visitors like no other city. It starts at the airport.
You go to the cab rank at any normal airport and there’s a fluoro person who processes you like a farm animal. “THREE!” they shout, pointing.
In Adelaide, the cab rank guy is like Greeters Guild comedian Troy Hawke.
“Good morning! How’s your day been?” Often, if it’s a nearby bay, he’ll open the cab door for you like you’re checking out of a five-star hotel. This is how they roll in that town, even at big banks.
Six years ago, we had some low-key dealings with a different major bank. We did some leasing through their Adelaide corporate office. Despite not doing regular work with them, they stayed in touch and were interested in our progress.
Amy, who manages corporate clients at that bank, is an Adelaide champion. Straight-talker, gets stuff done, always responds, she’s a “let me sort that out” person. She was our first contact there and she’s been there the whole six years. We drop by sometimes when we’re in town. The team there knows our story, they’re interested in what’s going on, and they have ideas to help.
Late last year, Amy and her team pitched us on moving all our transactional banking for the national businesses to her team in Adelaide.
She said: “I want your work, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be here for you”.
She offered better deposit and leasing rates, plus an actual responsive business relationship like we try to offer our own clients.
We promised to give it some thought. But to be honest, in our minds it was still in the “sounds good maybe one day but it’s too hard right now” file.
Then, early this year, the old bank pulled one of those “fuck you” customer service moments on one of our partners during a branch visit. Nicely timed the week before our annual business partner national get-together. The burning torches were out.
We had a play with the new bank’s app, which seemed legit, and then hit the go button.
I won’t bore you with the details of how moving business banking works. They have transition teams to help move stuff over.
It would be a lie to say it’s easy, there was the standard blizzard of documentation and some stress getting accounts set up the way we wanted them.
But it’s mostly done now and it’s all working. At its best, everyday banking should be a dull background activity that just works while you think about other things, and that’s where we’re at now.
(The best part is that in the informal division of labour between our partners, I didn’t have to do anything for the transition other than sign docs. Thanks PK and everyone else who saved me from infecting the project with my admin blindness. Avoid going into business with partners who have the same set of skills as you.)
I know it’s hard, but don’t think changing banks is impossible. Why not do your duty to oxygenate the stagnant waters of free-market competition?
You get better rates, but best of all you get to punish the people who treated you like peasants because they thought they had you trapped. Fuck those guys!
I really do recommend using suppliers from smaller cities if you’re not a Top 100 company yourself. Having bankers in Adelaide works fine for us. I’ve written before about Tayla, our Hobart warrior queen insurance broker who handles all our national business and has performed miracles on our behalf.
Building businesses is hard and stressful. You don’t need a medal for that, but it’s nice to talk to suppliers who recognise what you’ve achieved and value the increasing amount of work you’re giving them.
And from a sales perspective, yet another example of a long game well played. They didn’t pester us, just helped us out and stayed in touch for years.
As a would-be supplier, you’re only one badly timed current-supplier mistake away from a win.
It’s going to happen at some point. You can’t predict when so be ready.
This article was first published on the Undisruptable website. Ian Whitworth’s book Undisruptable: Timeless Business Truths for Thriving in a World of Non-Stop Change is out now from Penguin Random House.
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Ian Whitworth is a reformed branding and advertising creative director turned entrepreneur, who co-founded corporate audiovisual company Scene Change.
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