I opened my first Danish bank account last week. But only just.
I went into Jyske Bank, one of the bigger Danish concerns, with all the appropriate paperwork and politely asked to give them my salary every month in exchange for a debit card.
A reasonable request, you might think.
But apparently not.
After considering my entreaty, the chap explained that Jyske was ‘not that kind of bank’ and suggested that I go elsewhere.
‘So you don’t have any accounts you can offer me?’ I asked.
‘No, it’s not that,’ he went on, ‘it’s just that we are more of an advisory bank.’
‘I see, so you don’t want foreigners joining your bank?’ I retorted.
‘No, no, we just are more of an advisory service,’ he repeated.
‘So, it’s because I’m not depositing any money then?’
‘No, it’s just we’re not that sort of bank.’
I felt pretty bewildered at this point, but anger was beginning to boil beneath the surface, like a fart.
I said that it was strange that they apparently had plenty of account options for my (Danish) student girlfriend but none for me.
‘Oh, your girlfriend has an account here?’
Out came all the paperwork, welcome to Jyske Bank.
I should have told them where to stick their fucking account.