An Open Letter to Bank of America

Dear Bank of America,

Where did we go wrong? When we met, so many years ago, we were a perfect match! I had just come off a bad relationship with Wells Fargo, and you were there. I was a high school kid, too broke to pay for a checking account and you, what did you do for me? You said ‘have your checking for free!’ So we started going together, and things were great. I was growing with you, becoming a better, more responsible person every day we spent together. You had a $5,000 spending limit, but I, in an extraordinary display of self-discipline, swore I'd only use two-thirds of it. And I never used more. I did that because I respected you. I respected the exclusivity of our relationship.

But I just can’t figure you out anymore. You have changed from the low maintenance, agreeable BofA I once knew into the multi-national, billion dollar corporation equivalent of an Upper East Side non-working wife – you are sucking me dry, BofA.

But I'm frustrated, BofA. I'm upset and I'm confused and I'm frustrated. Here we are, getting along just swimmingly, and then yesterday get an email from you saying you've increased my credit limit to $13,000.

Well, you know what? That's bullshit BofA. Are you trying to bankrupt me? What in our history together makes you think I can pay off $13,000 in purchases? You don’t know me at all if you think I need a credit line equivalent to that of a small country. Am I not good to you, BofA? Don't I pay your bill on time every month? Yes, yes I most certainly do. What more do you want from me? I give all I can to you, BofA – I just don’t have any more to give. We've known each other a long time, and I thought we trusted each other. I trusted you. You know me, BofA, but apparently you'd rather base your opinion of me on what your gossipy, soulless friends the credit bureaus have to say.

And what gets me even more is the e-mail you sent me today, not even 24 hours after I got your other message. It says you want to make sure I'm protected from identity theft. Oh, really? One minute you blindside me and throw our relationship in my face, and the next you want to protect me like my mother or something?! You should be thinking about protecting me from bankruptcy, BofA.

God, BofA. I just. Don't. Get you.

So what do we do now? Obviously, this changes things. I won't be able to use you now and not feel like a stupid, irresponsible child. From now on, every time you come out of my wallet, I'll hurt a little. Your deep-blue palate and zippy logo will no longer make me proud; it will make me feel small and useless.

But I want to stay with you, BofA. I guess it might be a matter of convenience, which I know isn't necessarily healthy, but somehow I feel like we might be able to salvage things. Maybe it’s the airline miles you give me for every dollar I spend. Things may have changed, but you do still have $8,000 on you since I called your ass and knocked that shit back down. And $8000 is better than nothing. Let's take some time to give each other room to breathe, and see where we are at the end of the next billing cycle.

Warm Regards,
ESK