Banking Consultant Mocked My Postpartum Wife Over Her ID – Days Later, I Returned for Payback

My wife Sarah was going through a difficult postpartum phase after we had recently delivered our baby child. She was tired and had put on weight.

After noticing her old ID photo, an unpleasant consultant at the bank made fun of her last week. How could he? Enraged, I returned a few days later and gave him a memorable lesson.

Hi to all of you! Edward, a typical new father, is here, exhausted from constant diaper changes and in need of cuddles, but he is completely enamored with his 8-week-old daughter, Lily.

She has the softest hair you’ve ever seen and the prettiest pudgy cheeks you’ve ever seen. She is a total peanut. Let me clarify: becoming a parent is sheer magic. The coos, the gurgles, and the way she smiles when you speak are all harmonious.

However, I was not informed about the postpartum period, dude. It resembles this unrelenting creature that crept in and took my typically dazzling wife Sarah’s sunshine. You get the idea? She had dark bags under her eyes and was always tired.

I had to get this off my chest, therefore this story is about something that happened a few days ago. Settle down for an exciting ride as I take you inside the story of my postpartum wife’s RIDICULOUS bank consultant and her FIGHT for a modicum of civility. Now let’s move!

Sarah had to go to the bank for some boring adult stuff. You know, it wasn’t like brain surgery. Just a brief stop by to clear things up.

“I’ll be quick!” she said, yanking her hair back into a sloppy ponytail (hey, infant!) and pasting on a smile—the type that falls short of your eyes but you hope would do the trick—as she threw on a comfortable dress.

Later that evening, when we went back, the smile had vanished. Rather, there were tremulous voice and traces of tears. As it happens, my wife was the target of a middle-aged punk named Mark who worked at the bank.

Sarah informed me that after glancing at her ID and observing that she was slightly more “mom” than in her pre-baby photo—which, of course, is obvious—the jerk grinned loudly enough for the entire bank to hear, stating, “Wow, this must be an old photo.” You know, becoming a mother has been… different, huh?

Sarah gasped, “I was MORTIFIED, Ed,” tears starting to fill up in her eyes.Like, really wrecked. I just wanted to disappear. But I made myself complete the deal, keeping Lily by my side like a barrier. I wanted to get us both as far away from that jerk as possible, so I virtually sprinted out of the bank as quickly as I could.”

In approximately two seconds, my blood turned from lukewarm to lava. Who says that to someone, particularly a brand-new mother who has a million things on her plate?
I was CRAZY. The brutality of a stranger had broken Sarah, my lovely, resilient Sarah. How could someone be so cold-hearted?

I could not possibly overlook this. Sarah was entitled to better, and this bank—a location that condoned such conduct—needed to learn a hard lesson.

But it wouldn’t help to barge in, fists flying. I needed a strategy, something well-thought-out and practical. Something that would, you know, really hit them in the feels?

A few days later, with retaliation burning in my gut, I marched into the bank by pretending to be unwell. Grasping a briefcase, I looked around the room.

A middle-aged man with black hair that was pulled back and a bored expression was sitting behind the counter, typing on his computer. The most punchable name ever is proudly displayed on a name tag: “MARK.”

That was it. It’s time to show.
“Hello,” I said as I stepped up to shake his hand firmly. “I’m considering transferring a significant amount of money here, but I need to be confident my funds are in trustworthy hands.”

Mark glanced at the briefcase and then back at me. His look changed from one of boredom to one of enthusiasm.
He answered, “Absolutely, sir,” with a tone infused with phony earnestness. “We would be pleased to help you. To what extent are we discussing?”

I set down the bag on the counter, pulled it open just a crack to show off piles of cash, and shut it again.
“Quite a bit,” I answered, paused for effect, then continued, “enough to have a noticeable effect. Five million… real money! However, I need to talk to your management before we move forward.”

Mark’s eyes were like little money sprouting out of them. He ran to get the bank manager, Mr. Reynolds.
A tiny flinch at the sight of the briefcase betrayed the trained smile of Mr. Reynolds, a plump man with a receding hairline, as he approached.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said to them. “How can we assist you today?”
I gave a throat clearing. “As I was saying,” I started, “I’m interested in opening a new account, but customer service is paramount to me.”

Mr. Reynolds held his chest high. “Obviously, sir. Excellent customer service and treating everyone equally are two things we take great delight in.”
I glanced at Mark, who was now assiduously avoiding eye contact, as I nodded.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I murmured, lowering my voice. “Because my wife visited this very bank a few days ago and was subjected to a rather UNPLEASANT experience.”

The air filled with a collective gasp. Mr. Reynolds’s smile disappeared entirely. Mark appeared to be an animal in a corner when he finally met my eyes.

“One of your consultants made fun of her,” I blurted out, my eyes blazing with rage. “Mocked for not looking EXACTLY like her ID photo, which, by the way, was taken before the little miracle of childbirth.”

Mark lost all color in his face. He was undoubtedly aware of where this was headed. Mr. Reynolds, with a look of apparent real worry, cleared his throat.
“Sir, I apologize sincerely for it. There will be no repeat of that “said he.

“It’s not enough to apologize,” I retorted, bending over. “The main idea is that trust in banking is essential. How can I trust a company with my money if its employees lack fundamental empathy and respect for their clients?”

Mr. Reynolds gave a tense shift. “Sir, I assure you, such behavior is not tolerated here.” He gave Mark a scathing glance as he muttered something unintelligible.
My response was, “Words are cheap,” and I closed the briefcase firmly.

“My wife suffered humiliation. That is true. Furthermore, it disgusts me to think that my hard-earned money is supporting someone who believes it is acceptable to make fun of a new mother for something as normal as giving birth.”

The bank was silent for a long time. Mr. Reynolds’s eyes flickered between the briefcase and me as if considering his options. Mark appeared to want to melt into the floor, his cheeks flushed a deep pink.

“I understand your frustration, sir,” was the last thing Mr. Reynolds stated. “Perhaps we can discuss this further in my office?”
Observing the look of embarrassment on Mark’s face and the glimmer of comprehension in Mr. Reynolds’s eyes, I made the decision to take advantage of the situation.

I said, “Very well,” and I trailed Mr. Reynolds into his office with wood panels.
Mr. Reynolds motioned for me to take a seat once he shut the door. With a voice devoid of polished cheerfulness, he asked, “Can you tell me more about what happened to your wife?”

I described the event in a firm yet quiet voice, using my rage to recreate Sarah’s humiliation. Mr. Reynolds listened with a serious expression on his face. He sighed heavily when I was done.

“This is unacceptable,” he said with sincere regret in his voice. “Let me assure you, Mr…”
“Fisher,” I answered.
“Mr. Fisher,” he said after that. “We’ll respond appropriately. To make sure this kind of thing never occurs again, we will be reviewing our customer service training program and reprimanding Mark.”

I was not persuaded. “Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Reynolds.”
He appeared to comprehend. To put it nicely, “We’d like to make amends,” he said. Maybe a little memento of our sincere regrets? How about a free financial consultation?”

There was nothing appealing about the proposition. How about a free financial advice to make up for my wife’s disrespect? Hard pass, my friend! “The only amends,” I said, rising from my seat, “are ensuring this never happens again and making sure your staff understands the importance of treating every customer with dignity, regardless of their appearance.”

Mr. Reynolds gave a sharp nod. “We comprehend. We appreciate you alerting us to this, Mr. Fisher.”
Feeling oddly victorious, I left the bank with the briefcase still in my hand. Perhaps, just perhaps, my small gesture had had an impact.

We were surprised later that evening by a knock on the door. Sarah gave a circumspect response, still getting over the emotional upheaval of the previous few days. Standing on the doorstep with a sheepish expression and a bouquet of tulips was a man she recognized right away.

It was Mark.
“Mrs. Fisher…” he stumbled and avoided making eye contact while clearing his throat. “I just wanted to express my sincere regret for the incident that occurred the other day. My remark was harsh and entirely inappropriate. And I’m really sorry about it.”
Sarah looked from Mark to me and back again.

He began with a sincere apology, sharing how my visit had changed his perspective and reaffirmed his commitment to acting with greater compassion going forward. Mark apologized to Sarah politely, and they had a brief talk before he departed.
The tightness in my chest finally went away that night as I held her close.

I entered the bank feeling angry, but I left with something far more precious: a win for empathy, JUSTICE for my wife, and a reminder that even the tiniest act of moral courage can have a big impact on the world.

I can’t get the question out of my head: What would you have done? Would you have left the scene or challenged the offender? Tell me how you would respond in this kind of circumstance.