#555 – London 2008 #62 – Postcards from Geneva, Part II – My Swiss Bank “Interview” Didn’t Go Great

This was written Wednesday, September 24, in the late-morning, as I’m about to meet Melissa, Al Alvarez, and Tony Holden. I didn’t get a chance to post about my encounter with Swiss banking on Tuesday, so, as fast as I can summarize it, here is what happened:

After getting eliminated from the HORSE on Monday night, I decided to go to Switzerland on Tuesday to see if PayLamb and I needed some help from the legendary Swiss banking business. I wasn’t sure whether to go to Zurich or Geneva but the airfare to Geneva was slightly cheaper and it was more likely to rain Tuesday in Zurich.

The two biggest Swiss banks are Credit Suisse and UBS, but I didn’t like the vibe from either. When I started asking them about payment processors, neither of us could understand each other. I couldn’t get past the receptionist at either bank and, clearly, needed more personal service.

At another bank down the street, the receptionist spoke unaccented English so I decided to try that one.

I got the same runaround when I tried to talk about payment processors – how could all these Swiss bankers not know what that term meant? – but with enough translators, we finally made some headway. I THINK we made some headway, because it’s still unclear how much we really understood each other. There was a lot of vague nodding by both sides, and I learned, for example, near the end of the meeting, that I even got the banker’s name wrong. I thought he said his name was “Charles” though he pronounced it without the “s.” I later saw from a nameplate on his desk that his name was Karl – excuse me but I don’t speak Swiss.

They called someone from another bank – I think it was from another bank – who came by and seemed to understand about transferring money. It sounds like, if I keep at least a million dollars on deposit at Charles/Charl/Karl’s bank, they will start handling money for me between other financial institutions and Full Tilt. Unfortunately, it seemed like the cost of this would be nearly as much as I planned on charging. I’ll have to work on that.

I told Karl I wanted one of those secret “coded” Swiss accounts. The cool thing about Swiss accounts is that it’s a crime in Switzerland for bankers to divulge the identity of a customer, even to a foreign government investigation. There are a couple exceptions so I have to check out to make sure those don’t apply to me. But the coded accounts are an extra layer of protection. The account holder’s name doesn’t appear on any of the account paperwork. There’s just a code number or code name, and only Karl and one other person at the bank will know the identity of the account holder. (I hope it’s Claire, the receptionist. She was unbelievably blonde and cute.)

There are a bunch of extra fees for coded accounts, but I think it’s worth it. I can’t wait to call the bank from who-knows-where and says, “Karl, it’s Mint Jelly. Transfer $100 from my account to the Full Tilt account of SexyDeafMute” (or whoever).

I was disappointed to find out that I couldn’t even open the account that day – not that I had the million bucks yet. For foreign bank accounts, they need to “know” the customer. This, I was told, was an interview for me to become their customer. I’m sorry but I hit the roof. “I want to GIVE – YOU – MONEY! Not apply for a job as a teller.” But those are the rules.

I don’t think I did very well in the interview. I was wearing sweatpants, an Ed Hardy tee shirt, and a Full Tilt sweatshirt – hardly interview clothes. And, because I was nervous and had that heavy jacket on, I was sweating profusely. I actually had to mop my forehead with a tissue at one point and, if I wasn’t trying to make an impression, would have taken a swipe under my arms. Then they asked so many questions that I started getting defensive. I didn’t want these guys poking around my business – I was there to KEEP secrets, not tell them.

The whole interview was a jumble that ended with me making up a bunch of stuff. It all blurs together now and I don’t even know why I did it. I truthfully told them about my legal career, but for some reason added in that I was once a junior partner at Sullivan & Cromwell, a white-shoe New York law firm, and I represented John Gotti in a pair of criminal cases in Chicago. I started getting dizzy and maybe even dehydrated. I’m pretty sure I also said something like, I was an early investor in Sealy Mattress and Starbucks, that I went to high school with Madonna (which isn’t far from the truth), and that I dated Mariah Carey (which isn’t even a colorable lie).

At the end of the interview, they asked me how much I wanted to put down to open the account. I figured this was some kind of a trick question and immediately said, “One million dollars, as soon as I receive it.” They suggested that I could open the account for a smaller amount and avoid having to make a return trip and simply wire the rest of the money. At that point, anything that would keep me from having to return to this bank and repeat this kind of performance seemed like a godsend.

“Sure,” I told them. “I could open the account for a smaller amount, a hundred or two hundred bucks, just to start.”

I was then informed – suddenly, there was no whispering or stammering around with language difficulties – that the minimum balance was $15,000.

“You guys are a piece of work,” I told them all, though I tried to wink at Claire to make it clear I didn’t group her with these lunatics. “I don’t carry that kind of money around with me. And besides, what’s all this crap about this being ‘an interview’? When the interview’s over, you’ll see my money and not before.”

The meeting ended somewhat abruptly after that, though I tried to make sure that despite our rocky start, I still wanted to be considered for an account with the bank. I can’t fathom going through this process at another bank. Besides, if Uncle Tilty comes through and loans me a million dollars after the Main Event and I carry it into the bank, I’m sure it’ll be all smiles and kisses on the cheek.

Then I realized at the airport that I left my backpack at the bank. Fuck it, I thought. All I really had in there were some blank notebooks and an extra shirt (which, actually, I desperately could have used at that point). But I just barely caught my flight back to London. Once back in the safety and security of my hotel and the Executive Concierge Program, I ordered up a lovely brown leather shoulder bag from Fortnum & Mason, charged of course to Full Tilt’s master account at the hotel. Like ordering from room service, they brought it to me on Wednesday morning.

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