Ah...Those Were The Days

I had an argument at the bank today.

Again...

Seems like, often, when I need something out of the ordinary from my bank I am stifled.

I remember, when I was a kid, the way it was in the "old days."

The hell with the toaster. I'm not talking about toasters here.

I'm talking about relationships.

In the past you developed a relationship with your banker. You knew him by name and he knew you. And your parents and your kids. And your dog.

We were a community. An extended family of people drawn together by common needs, desires and purpose.

If you went into the bank and asked to cash a third party check, which is what I did today, as long as it was endorsed, you were good to go.

But...NO...not today. Not at MY bank. NOOOOO!

And to make me even more insane, the fact that the third party in question was MY WIFE had no bearing.

The check was from a company we do business with. It was made out to my lovely wife. She had endorsed it and written above her signature, "Make Payable to my Wonderful Husband." Obviously I substitute that for my real name which I don't want you to know because of reasons of identity theft and concerns about privacy.

Oh...my real name is the title of this blog? I forgot that in the midst of my recalling today's exasperating events. Never mind...

Anyway, the bank...my bank...couldn't cash the check for me. They couldn't verify my wife's signature. Never friggin' mind that the bank manager KNOWS MY WIFE! She knows who she is. She even knows who our dog is.

But because my wife wasn't there to say that she had endorsed the check over to me, I couldn't cash the God damned thing. And the fact that the banker knows me...well forget about that logic. There was, apparently, aside from all of my various ID cards, no way for my banker to verify that I was me and not some poseur with hair and makeup and a costume and a dialect coach trying to gain access to my account in which, on a good day, you will find $10.43! COME ON!!!!!!!!! (Just kidding...she knew it was me all along. She is such a prankster..!)

My word should have been enough. That should have been all that counted. That should have been the beginning and the end of it!

In the GOOD OLD DAYS...when you were friends with your banker, your word was all that mattered. If my father told his banker something then his banker could take that information to the, well...to the bank, if you will...which was where the conversation would have, hypothetically, taken place...back then...in the "Good Old Days."

Digressing...but not really. The point here is that society has completely broken down. Your word means nothing. Relationships mean nothing. And toasters mean...well, toasters mean tax problems. Did you read where people are being assessed a tax on the gifts they have been given by banks to lure them into opening accounts?

You can't invent this stuff. It's unbelievable.

Time to invest in a new mattress with a secret compartment for cash. At least then I'll feel like I have some control.

Oh, and by the way, the bank finally cashed the check, but only after we belatedly discovered that my wife is a cosigner on my account. Well, we didn't actually discover it. I had forgotten. Had I remembered that little fact, this whole ordeal wouldn't have taken place. But that would have missed the larger point.

And then I wouldn't have had the ammunition for this post. Aren't you glad I forgot...?