Periodically, I engage in a song & dance routine. I get out my black, patent leather shoes, pink bow tie and glittery cane. Ive performed this little tap number at four branches of a local bank in order to obtain necessary paperwork for a loan.
My husband occasionally buys and sells real estate. Hence, the need for loans. To borrow money from a lender, we must prove that we dont really need the money.
My energetic little jig is usually followed by polite, staccato applause from my small, subdued audience; afterward, I am handed the requested piece of paper to show the lender. I typically begin my journey to the exit, but rarely make it out the double glass doors. Along the way, I notice that the paper, which summarizes the balance of my accounts, provides no evidence whatsoever that it originated from a bank. I could have typed it up myself.
Where the hell does it say which freaking bank this is from? is what Id love to shout (years of maintaining an angelic demeanor for the sake of the kids has taken its toll on me). Instead I say,
Would you kindly open a drawer and locate the super impressive, official-looking stamp that says Los Pueblos Bank and illuminate this little sheet?
So begins a mad dash from drawer to drawer by the employee in search of the elusive stamp. This occurs each and every time and can last anywhere from four to twelve minutes, depending on the I.Q. of the person assisting me. (That was mean. Im sorry. I.Q. has no bearing whatsoever on stupidity. Highly educated people can be impossibly stupid).
Yesterday, Husband and I entered the branch closest to our home to add his name to an account that I have with my mother. Doesnt that sound delightfully simple? Nancy assisted us. We obtained proper signatures and left to get my mothers signature. We did so. Husband returned the signature card to the bank (I didnt have my tap shoes on me). It was his turn to secure the little piece of paper.
Heres what happened:
When Husband entered the bank, Nancy was nowhere to be found. He overheard some one say, Shes in the lunch room, doing her nails. Husband was advised that no other person, out of the 15 employees present, could add the signature and print out the paper he required. He asked to see the manager.
Unbeknown to Husband, the manager had declared Tuesdays to be Dont-help-customers-no-matter-what-day.
When he asked how long Nancy would be, Manager replied, Ten minutes.
Husband said, No problem. Ill wait. I really need to deliver this paperwork to the lender today. Husband showed Manager a sample copy of what he needed.
Manager carefully scrutinized it, then announced, Thats a cute little paper, but youre not getting anything today. Its going to take at least twenty-four hours to update the account.
Husband, realizing thems fightin words, said, Are you sure? Ive done this before and its instant.
She restated, It cant be done.
Husband left. He filled up the gas tank, stopped to get coffee, then drove five miles to the next branch of the same bank. This time he met a very smart teller who printed what he needed in less than ten seconds. Unfortunately, it took another four minutes to find the infamous official bank stamp.
Why? Why must we jump through hoops and perform astonishing feats of ability in order to survive an encounter with stupidity? Well, first of all, so I can run this blog. Secondly, to sharpen our minds. Those who can think and do, can always beat ten men who cant and dont (to paraphrase George Bernard Shaw). Dont you feel a sense of accomplishment when youve resolved a problem or completed a task, no matter how large or small? Stupers (short for abysmally stupid persons) dont know what that satisfaction feels like. And never will.
Choose to think.
Keli
Keli@counterfeithumans.com
Banks tick me off. I avoid them at all costs. But that might have more to do with my lack of cash than the people in the building.
Nice a douche bag manager.. What happen to professionalism? Why scrutinize his document which was legit? Hubby is a standup guy .. kudos to him
independent thinker is rare,
but you are one of them,
smart people can survive dumb bosses,
but,
it is always good to have FUN at work…
That selfsame thing happened to me once. Then they proceeded to put my loan funds into the account of another person with a name a lot like mine.
I found out about it when large checks began bouncing.
True story.
9, a magical number
to enter…
just stop by saying hello,
wishing you a sweet evening.
it is pouring outside my door…
I have to respect your husbands strategy of leaving and stopping for coffee and gas. It is easier to reengage stupidity after taking a moment to recover.
Exactly! The satisfaction of solving a problem or completing a task! Weird to think that the vast population of stupers will never experience that.
You are so funny, and sharply accurate. We do have to do a song and dance to get things done in a world of stupers, don’t we?