I’ve had a Bank of America account since I first began earning wages as a lifeguard in the early 2000s. I opened a free student checking account, and while I later adopted the Golden1 Credit Union as my primary bank, the B of A account has hung around.

The reason I kept the account was to access Bank of America’s considerably large network of ATMs. Once I started working, I plunked my bimonthly healthcare reimbursement checks into the red BofA ATM across the street from my office, and whenever I was in a bind for cash (a frequent occurrence in cash-only-happy San Francisco), a Bank of America ATM was usually close at hand.

All in all, BofA and I enjoyed a happy, functional little relationship. I put in checks, their ATMs spit out cash, and I went on my merry way. It all began to fall apart some months ago when I left my job.

No longer reimbursed for healthcare expenses—and lacking any other steady income—I ceased depositing checks in my BofA account, and after a trip to the East Coast in May in which I drew on the account heavily, my balance was down to just a few dollars and cents.

Intending to close the thing out, I pulled up my Bank of America account online and took a quick look at the activity. This was an exceedingly rare practice. As I used the card exclusively for cash withdrawals, and never credit purchases, I didn’t bother myself much with monitoring account activity. On this particular gander, I discovered a mysterious $12.95 charge labelled “monthly maintenance fee”.

As anyone who feels they’ve been wronged and doesn’t yet understand why or how, I became suddenly indignant and flustered. I began scrolling down past my ATM withdrawals, and sure enough, at the beginning of May, I found another $12.95 debited for “monthly maintenance”. Frantically I rushed downward into the depths of my account history, stopping at each $12.95 charge to clench my teeth and scowl.

All told—at least up until the last month of my employment—I counted nine monthly maintenance fees, which I quickly added up to $116.55.

At this point my cup was runnething over with fury. I decided to use Bank of America’s online support system to take my anger out on a robot. I got some poor sap named “Angela” who wasn’t ready for my gchat-sharp online tongue.

Here is what I learned from Angela about the “monthly maintenance fees”:
My account type, once a free student account, had since been changed to a “MyAccess Checking” account. This particular account incurs a monthly maintenance fee unless the average balance remains above $1500, or a monthly direct deposit is set up from something like a job or social security account.

My cash-infused glory days of full-time work had apparently kept me above the $1500 mark, but once I dipped below I began unknowingly incurring charges—or, more accurately, Bank of America began silently bleeding me.

What makes this so sick is that those most likely to have an average balance below $1500 and lack a direct deposit are the poor and the unemployed. This account type is set up by Bank of America specifically to take advantage of the poorest and most needy of Americans. Not lost on the engineers of this account, I’m sure, is the fact that these folks are also the least likely of Americans to diligently examine their online or paper-mail bank statements.

In short, Bank of America targets poor people and steals their money.

My conversation with Angela did not go well, as she was unable to reverse more than two months’ fees, and I decided I wouldn’t be satisfied without speaking my piece to a human being wearing a Bank of America badge at my local branch.

The human being I eventually spoke with added a neat little wrinkle to the whole fiasco: other account types! Free ones! Two different account types I could use that would be free for checking. How nice! Why didn’t I just choose one of those? Why was I using the silly “MyAccess” account and paying $12.95/month when I could be checking for free?

Because that’s the account Bank of America chose for me, that’s why. Apparently my original free student account was valid for only five years, at which point I was automatically switched to “MyAccess”. I was of course, I was told, notified of this change, but of that I have no recollection. I don’t even want to think about how many monthly maintenance fees I unwittingly racked up in the years before I began full-time work.

How convenient that the account Bank of America chose for me was the one that cost me the most money.

By the time I met Ms. Bank of America, my temper had somewhat cooled, and aware that she was not the architect of B of A’s predatory banking policies, and conscious of the fact that I had no legal recourse, I glumly accepted the two-month charge reversal she offered, closed the account, and walked out of the bank with my remaining $33.54.

Not being a B of A customer never felt so good.

Fortunately, I have another bank account and it has some money in it. I am unemployed but I have the support of my gracious parents and patrons, and I am not destitute. I am clothed and fed and I don’t have to worry whether or not I’m going to make rent or pay my medical fees or have enough money to buy groceries. But this little experience made me think of all the people that aren’t so fortunate, and how they must feel when they discover that Bank of America has been bleeding them for the past nine months.

Perhaps they wouldn’t even look at it that way. If they believe strongly enough in the system that oppresses them, they may feel things like shame and embarrassment instead of indignation and anger. They might think it natural and somehow right that they be charged a fee for having a low balance and losing their job. They’re probably accustomed to being penalized for being poor, and this little charge from Bank of America may come as no surprise.

For all those poor souls who grin and bear it and turn back into the system to try and turn the hamsterwheel a little faster and work a little harder, and for the few like myself who see this for what it is and are fortunate enough not to be adversely affected, I say fuck you Bank of America. Fuck you and your insidious policies that take advantage of poor people. Fuck you for pretending to care and for using the word “America” in your name.

A curse upon you. May you and the system you promote come crashing down to earth and fall to pieces. May all your sick and twisted doings be seen in the light of day, unravel, shrivel up and die (This is probably going to happen in the next three to five years, so when it does don’t be surprised if I take at least partial credit).

And thank you, Bank of America, for embodying all that is wrong with our society and presenting it to me so clearly in the form of a monthly maintenance fee.