The word “spin” has various definitions, but the one which came to my mind last month is well expressed in the Oxford English Dictionary Additions Series, Volume I at p. 315: “A bias or slant on information, intended to create a favourable impression when it is presented to the public”.
We have all been the recipients of “spin”. For example, included with one’s bank statement will be a notice announcing that in an effort to serve you better the bank is modifying its service fee structure. The notice fairly drips with concern for your welfare. The glowing prose is such that conjured before you are images of tireless bank officers hunched over their respective desks working long into the dark and cold night as they try to find ways to make your life less brutish and your burdens less weighty. We are talking about rooms full of Albert Schweitzer-types, all dedicated to orchestrating the banks business practices so that your life is easier. Sadly, trained as we are to read the fine print, we soon discover that the changes effected to the “service fee structure” are two-fold: the number of things the bank will do without charging a service fee is decreasing, and the service fees previously charged are increasing. That is “spin”. That which is touted as being a benefit to you is, in reality, a detriment to you as spinee and a benefit to someone else as spinor.
Last month, I had a close encounter of the third kind with a master of spin. I went to a bank branch located in the small town near where I live. My purpose was pro-social, perhaps even noble: I wanted to pay money to the Government of Canada (the quarterly rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s). When I entered the bank, clutching my remittance form and a cheque representing my humble offering, I was encouraged to see that there was only one other customer in the customer counter area, and she was being attended to by the one teller on duty. Consequently, I was at the head of a queue of one, and fully anticipated being served very soon. The customer currently occupying the attentions of the teller did not seem to be trying to cash a stale-dated, third party cheque, made out in Króna, and drawn on a community credit union located in Reykjavik, Iceland; I felt pretty optimistic about concluding this visit quickly.
Suddenly, I noted a smiling bank employee standing next to me.
“Do you want to use our automated service?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” I replied, “I am happy to deal with a real, live human being.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to pay money to the government.” I confess I may have carelessly used the word “want”.
“You could do that at the ATM”, she noted helpfully. That too may be a careless use of the word “helpfully”.
I looked over at the ATMs located in the foyer of the branch, and which I had passed as I came into the branch proper. Those were the machines with people waiting in a queue to use them. I looked back at my current position of being next in line to access a teller who gave every sign of finishing with the one other customer. “No thanks. I’ll just deal with a teller.”
With that, the woman left my side, walked behind the teller counter, and invited me to attend upon her at the sacrificial altar, I mean the service counter. As I approached, the previous non-Icelandic customer left the other teller.
I presented my remittance form and cheque.
“You could do this at the ATM.”
“I would rather do it in person and have my form date stamped by the bank.” In a moment of weakening resolve, I pointed out that on the form the Government of Canada, regulator of banks, and holder of first charge on my soul, had declared that I could make the payment at any chartered bank.
“The ATM would give you a date stamp.” I had visions of a great mechanical arm shooting out from the wall
and rubber stamping whatever was before it… like my forehead.
“Do you bank on-line?” she asked with just a tinge of an accusatory tone, as it became evident to her that I was a reactionary pocket of resistance in the technological revolution (doubtless I am, but I hope it is a protected status under some obscure provision in the Charter).
“Yes”, I replied.
“Have you done banking with your phone”?
“Yes”, and then offered in my defence, “I have even deposited cheques into my account using the phone’s camera.” I felt that I was marginally holding my own as long as she didn’t start to question too closely my re-cycling habits.
Happily, at that moment, she tired of trying to convince me that it would be to my great advantage to spend more time waiting in a queue to use an automated system which coincidentally would allow the bank to cut its costs by eliminating employee positions. She took my cheque, stamped my form, and bid me a dismissive adieu. And it was then that the meaning of the word “spin” became crystal clear to me. I must be a visual learner. I wonder if the bank has considered imposing a service charge for teaching by example.
The Honourable Judge A.A. Fradsham is a Provincial Court Judge with the Criminal Court in Calgary. His column "A View From the Bench" has been a highlight in Canadian Bar Association newsletters for over 15 years.