Born Again Banking

Only in Japan could opening a bank account qualify as the highlight of my day. As a foreigner, I expect the unexpected, and realize that no task is mundane when literally at a loss for words in an unfamiliar and complex culture.

Japan is a paperwork heavy society, and I dreaded the hassle of filling out endless forms as is customary when opening an account, even in the States. To complicate matters, I did not have a hanko, or personal seal the Japanese use in lieu of their signature that is necessary to execute official documents. While rubber-stamping papers sounded fun, seeking out a hanko merchant to translate my name into Katakana and craft a stamp would be a chore.

So would selecting a Japanese bank. Were any giving away free tote bags? That would make the decision easier. It never hurts to ask; I snagged a reversible one from Vodafone last month. To get paid for my article, I followed the financial advice of a Japanzine editor – use Shinsei Bank, Japan’s answer to Washington Mutual.

Shinsei Bank’s progressive features eliminated the need to comparative shop: bilingual telephone support 24/7, online banking, free bank transfers, no minimum balance requirement, no hanko, and no ATM withdrawal fees – even when abroad. Japanese for “new birth,” Shinsei reimburses fees incurred when using another ATM. Take that, WaMu.

ATMs in New York are not pleasant places, characterized by harsh lighting, grimy screens, and floors littered with receipts. You look over your shoulder at the homeless guy who held the door open on your way in, and whom if you don’t tip on the way out might hold you up.

Electronic glass doors parted. Shinsei Bank’s ATMs sparkled against the wall. I had the immediate attention of three sharply dressed representatives. The receptionist greeted me and thanked me for coming in. I inquired about a Powerflex account, and was cordially invited to have a seat. I sank into comfy lounge chairs, and watched Bloomberg news images flash silently overhead. I felt like a slob checking into a four-star hotel. Dressed to outsmart the humidity in my reliable ensemble of t-shirt, wind pants, and Tevas, I was at odds with the professional setting.

I spent more time pondering what color to select for my cash card than filling out half a page of paperwork. Selection rivaled that of Dutch Boy. Evocative choices included Christmas white, orange juice, chocolate caramel, straw hat, baby face, air mist, fresh leaves, tomato kiss, and red wine cocktail. Some sounded delicious, but I settled for pain old black.

I sat back and leafed through the latest Japanese Esquire. A woman with a brochure approached me. Would I like to take advantage of the American Express promotion? Was there a tote bag involved? No, but how many credit cards did I have, and didn’t I need another? This sounded annoyingly American. I brandished my credit card to appease the saleswoman. She complimented my glitzy wallet, calling it “rich.” I revealed its ¥2000 ($18) contents and corrected her: “No, poor.”

I returned to the special section on New York fashion. Five minutes later she returned with the hard sell. If I signed up, my baggage would be delivered from Narita airport to home for free. Wait, did this include a tote bag? I didn’t have any luggage at Narita, and would be more than capable of transporting it myself, but thanks very much.

Shortly thereafter I was ready to bank, Shinsei style. The associate deposited a packet of information into a sturdy paper shopping bag. I asked for her business card. She demurred. She must have been hired this morning not to have an obligatory meishi.

So impressed with the English-friendly service, I asked to speak to her supervisor, which created the awkward position of her translating my praise for her to her boss. Everyone seemed pleased. I flashed thumbs up, and they bowed until I was out of sight. From start to finish, their treatment of a young and shabbily dressed client with little purchasing power was reverential.

Alack, if only I had money to deposit.