Dear financial advisor / Dear bank.
I don’t know at which school you trained, but let me give you a quick crash course. If you want me to get your hands on any my family’s hard-earned cash, please pay heed to the following:
– Cold-calling at lunchtime, school pick-up time, kids’ dinner-time, bath-time or bedtime will get you nothing more than an irritated “not interested”.
– Asking me “when’s a good time to call?” will also get you a curt reply. You want this call, not me! If you push it, the answer’s “never”.
– Getting my name wrong will never impress me.
– If you think I’ve got to the age of 40 and had two children without planning my financial future, you’re underestimating me. That’s doesn’t make me like you.
– Telling me I’ve been selected as one of “Dubai’s highest earners” makes me realise how badly informed you are. I am a housewife. My income is zero; it’s measured in the heart, not the wallet.
– Telling me I’m a valued client when I closed my accounts with your bank in disgust back in 2007 isn’t a good introductory sentence.
– Telling me I’ve been selected for a preferential mortgage rate is, quite frankly, ridiculous. One, I already have a house, and two, do I have to say it again? I have no income!
– Sending me a gold credit card that I haven’t asked for just embarrasses the courier as I will foam at the mouth, curse the bank and refuse to accept delivery.
– Assuming that because I’m a housewife I have all the time in the world to “meet for coffee and a chat” (“Everyone has time for a coffee, don’t they, Mrs Dubai?” Um. No) insults me.
– Asking to meet me in Costa Coffee makes me feel uncomfortable. Do you really expect me to divulge me family’s financial status in a public coffee shop? Seriously?
– If I agree to see you, calling me up from your car to tell me that my house doesn’t exist, just because you can’t find it, makes me wish you didn’t exist.
– And, finally, you turning up in a car that cost more than my house makes me want to lock the door and run as fast as I can in the opposite direction.