The silent debit order heist

Tim Chadwick | CEO | Chadwicks | mail me |

It starts, as these things invariably do, on a perfectly innocuous Tuesday. The coffee is hot. The cat judges me from the sofa. The world seems, temporarily, to behave itself. Then, you make the fatal error. You check your bank account.

There it is. A debit order. But not the friendly, familiar figure that you have grown accustomed to. That one we agreed upon over a handshake, or more likely a shiny tick box on a glowing screen.

The shock of the silent debit order

No, this figure has swollen. It has gorged itself. It is startlingly larger. There was no phone call. No email. No “we need to talk” – just boom. The money is gone. That, dear reader, is the silent debit order in all its glory.

Now, before the suits in the glass towers start hyperventilating, let me stop you. I do not live under a rock. I am an ordinary homosapien, camping on this third rock from the sun, making my way through this thing called life. Yes, I buy milk. I see the price of bread. I understand the grinding machinations of the economy.

Yes, I understand the economics

I know the spiel. I can recite the sacred texts of the insurance giants. “Inflation, dear boy. The rising cost of parts. The volatility of the Rand. Subsequently,  the sheer, unbridled volume of claims”. Blah, blah, blah.

We get it. Truly, we do. Insurers are not the bad guys. They are not charities. They are businesses. To stay afloat and keep the lights on, they must cover their expenses and make a profit. Prices go up. The Rand tumbles. This is the way of the insurance universe.

My gripe is not with the insurance mathematics. It is with the bedside manners. Some may call it professionalism. Novel idea.

Where the trust breaks

There is something distinctly unpleasant about a silent price hike. It feels less like a business adjustment and more like pickpocketing. It relies on the hope that I am too busy, too tired, or too hypnotised by AI to notice that you dipped deeper into my receding pocket. This is the silent debit order at work.

“Trust us”, the slogans say. “We’ve got your back”, and “Call us and save”, or “Comprehensive cover now just R299.99 pm. Smile & Wave. But for today only,” – my personal favourite promises cash rewards for not doing what insurance should do. Talk is cheap, and so is insurance, it seems.

By the way, this obsession with “cash back” has always mystified me. Why would people buy into that, unless insurance is a con? To be clear, it is not. But it feels like a mass marketing “pick me, shiny object” tactic dressed up as generosity. Quite frankly, it is insulting.

Treat customers like adults

Why should I be rewarded for not using the product I paid for? Why not just reduce my premiums if I am a good boy? Try treating me like an adult customer who can manage their risk profile. Asseblief tog.

Yes, you have my back. And my bank details. And apparently, the audacity to assume that my silence is permission to do whatever you please. That is how the silent debit order thrives.

The solution, my dear corporate behemoths, is simple. It requires no algorithms, no actuarial tables, and no board meetings.

Just talk to me

Talk to me. Truthfully. Please.

Before you unleash the increased debit order, be brave. Man up. Do a Stevie Wonder. Pick up the phone. But please do not sing. Rather say, “I just called to say your premiums are going up”. Send a letter. Send an email. Also, send a carrier pigeon if you feel retro. Please do not send me the premium increase template. I can smell them a mile off, and the smell is unpleasant. Treat me like a human. Treat me like someone you want to keep.

How about this for honesty:

Dear Johnny, look, the world is a mess. Car parts now cost more than gold dust. Petrol is going up. So, we will bump your premium up by 15% next month. We hate to do it, but such is life and insurance.

Give me options, not surprises

That is step one. But if you really want to dazzle me, give me options. “If this increase makes you want to sob uncontrollably into your pillow, Johnny, here are some alternatives. We could tweak your excess. We could remove that car hire option you never use. Furthermore, we recommend reviewing your motor sums insured. Let’s dance”. Marvelous. Thank you, I would say, and I would mean it.

Suddenly, I am not a victim of the system. I am a participant. More so, I am a human being with a name, not just a policy number to harvest. It is a small thing. It is basic courtesy. Also, it is the digital equivalent of looking someone in the eye before asking to borrow a tenner.

The 3:36 am email offender

And while we are on table manners, let me address the slightly less silent cousin of this crime. The 3:36 am email.

You know the one. It arrives in the wee hours, like a hadeda shrieking outside your window. All decent people sleep or question their life choices. The subject line is vague. The tone is apologetic in that corporate way that means nothing. After two paragraphs thanking you, buried in paragraph four, lies the news.

Your premium is going up. In 48 hours nogal.

Legal, maybe. Ethical, no.

Technically, you have been notified. Legally, the box may have been half-ticked. Morally? Just not cricket. Not even close.

So, by all means, raise the premiums if the business demands it. But for the love of money, do not sneak in and do a digital smash and grab. Do not rely on the silent debit order. Be friendly. Be professional. Above all, pick up the phone and say hello before you reach for my wallet.

Let’s treat the customer fairly, shall we?

What do you think?