RTP

Those in the industry knew what RTP meant. Others might not. Most, probably thought I had abbreviated erroneously. "What she meant was RIP, but of course that's what she meant." And everyone knew that  RIP is Rest in peace, right?

Well, RTP is right thumb print.

I have had the occasion to walk into a bank a couple of weeks ago. I'm not particularly fond of walking into this particular bank because the customer service is simply atrocious. Then again, customer service in the banking industry had taken a heavy toll since well ... since Adam was a kid. In any case, a form was thrust in my face and my signature demanded without so much as a blink.  Common courtesy would have demanded half as much..

I struggled with the pen. I struggled with the signature. The lady at the bank looked blandly at my signature, frowned and declared that it did not match the one in my specimen. (or was it profile?)

"I have tendonitis so I can't sign properly," I explained as I pointed at my wrist with much contrite.

"Never mind. Biometric!"

"Huh?"  (Biometric? I muttered to myself.)

She slipped my card into a thingamajig and asked me to place my thumb onto a certain spot. A red light lit up and I was cleared. Talk about technology. Some of you must have experienced this far earlier than me. That should tell you how long I haven't been to the bank.

There was a time when things were done differently ...

RTP used to be a messy affair. The thumb print set came in a metal casing measuring about 3" X 7" with a lid which opened to reveal a hard surface. (probably glass) You squeeze some black paste from a little tube onto the hard surface, then smear them evenly with the ink roller provided. This had to be repeated every time the ink on the metal plate dried up, a messy chore not at the top of most people's list.

In days of old (I don't know about the current practice) pensioners in the civil service were issued pension warrants which had to be presented at the bank for encashment at the close of each month. Some pensioners deposited these warrants in their bank accounts but most joined the month-end bank queue to collect their meager dues.

A toothless grin and a raised thumb usually precedes each transaction. The thumb print set is opened, their thumbs were grasped, maneuvered over the stained glass surface and the darkened thumb thereby rolled over the back of the warrant. Mission completed. They get their money. They leave. A messy but straight forward affair ... until the day someone with a criminal mind came out with a cunning plan.

Mr WhatsHisName, a young man of about 30, had been collecting his mother's pension with her consent after she was incapacitated by some illness. The proper documents were produced and this went on for a couple of years until a courtesy call on the mother revealed that she had been dead for years. Her son had severed her thumb and used it to get her RTP. The risk factor had changed exponentially.

I used to agonize over the thumb prints for I couldn't tell one from the other. An old bubbly colleague used to whip out his magnifying glass to glare at the prints through his thick spectacles. Looking up from the prints, he would peer intimidatingly at the presenter before approving any payments.

Someone else had a brilliant idea. He folded the prints in half and matched it against the print on the identity card. As for me, it is all about mitigating your negligence so I did what I did but you needn't have to read about it.

The cumbersome thumb print sets were no longer in use these days. They were later replaced by small compact cases which incidentally, I haven't seen in years.

Meanwhile Risk Management in the industry grew from a small department handled by a handful to an enormous division pulsating with life. Integrity and trust is a thing of the past.