Have you noticed how technology is increasingly used as a sledgehammer to crack a nut?
Overcomplicated parking apps are replacing what was a perfectly workable system: pay by machine. Other irritations include the infernal demand to “provide feedback” on the most mundane purchases. If you’ve got time to give bog roll a mark out of five, you might want to reconsider your life choices.
Then there’s the vexation of forgotten passwords and authentication apps. It’s enough to make you want to flush your iPhone down the toilet, along with that glowing review of Kleenex.
My latest digital bête noire is the preposterous anti-fraud hoops online banking customers now jump through to spend their own money.
I understand the rationale. Scammers defraud pensioners by posing as trusted institutions. Emails can look identical to those sent by banks, luring you into revealing personal information. Calls appear to come from legitimate numbers yet originate in far-flung locations. There are plenty of wrong’uns and caution is sensible.
But let’s keep a sense of proportion.
Is it really necessary for NatWest to ask if I’m sure I’m not a victim of fraud when I’m transferring money to my son for a Nando’s, renewing a tennis club membership or paying the plumber? Probably not. And what’s with all the facial verification checks?
With business banking it’s worse. A friend recently hit a “computer says no” moment trying to pay a tax bill. Having already made a couple of transfers before the April 5 deadline, they were barred from making a further payment to HMRC and incurred a late-payment interest penalty.
Naturally, the only solution was to visit a branch, which, in NatWest’s case, now resembles the reception of a bowling alley, complete with tellers in shiny bomber jackets.
Half an hour later, after producing various forms of ID, they were finally able to hand over their hard-earned cash to the Treasury. Unbeknown to them, NatWest imposes an arbitrary limit on how much, and how often, you can pay in a month. A one-off high-value payment may be allowed once a day, or four times in 28 days, depending on security checks.
This makes it effectively impossible to make multiple payments at the end of the tax year, when business owners often want to issue dividends, top up a Sipp, and settle tax bills at the same time.
If you want to make more than four payments in that 28-day period, you have to pay for the privilege. Progress, apparently.
In the headlong rush to digitise, we’ve come to equate inconvenience with security. Overcomplicating something doesn’t automatically make it safer or more sophisticated. And why do these systems need to be so patronising?
