January 17, 2011


Well, it finally happened.

Law firms have been replaced as Number One on my list of groups I deem lower than clam poop.  The group that now has the honor of my complete disdain is...may we have the envelope, please...banks!

I went into one of these banking institutions (and they call them "institutions" for a good reason--after ten minutes of dealing with these people, you'll be ready for one) yesterday to open a checking account.  I had one with a different bank, but finally got sick of having to go down there every other day because they showed my account overdrawn twelve minutes after I had made a deposit.  One wouldn't think it would be too much to hope for that bank employees would be capable of adding.  Perhaps the ones who handle checking accounts are told only to subtract, I don't know.

After the fourth time I was shown to be overdrawn when I wasn't, I had a tug-of-war with the bank manager to get him to let go of my $2000, and left to find another bank in which to put my money that would be gracious enough to allow me to spend it when I want it, if I'm willing to pay them to do it.

Yeah.  Right.  Nothing wrong with that picture...

Okay.  So I went to another bank, sat down and told the nice man what I wanted.  We filled out all the forms, then he asked me for my ID.  I handed him my driver's license.

"Don't you have anything else?" he asked.

"Hey, I got rhythm, I got music, who could ask for anything more?" I replied.

"Hmmmmmmm," he hmmmed.  "I need another form of identification."

"Why?  My photo is on my driver's license, and looks just like me...unfortunately."

"Don't you have a credit card?"


"Well, the law requires us to have two forms of identification."

Ah, yes.  I could just see our legislators slaving away late at night over a law that requires banks to ask for two forms of identification, even though a driver's license has an address, signature, and photo on it.

Come to think of it, that's exactly what our legislators would spend time on!

"Look, I want to put money in, not take it out!  I thought banks encouraged that behavior.  Now I have to prove that I haven't made a recent appearance on 'American Justice' to deposit money here?"

"We have to be sure of who you are."

"I'm sure of who I am, and I ought to know.  I've been me for quite some time now."

"I'm afraid we need a little more proof than that."

"Then grab a Ouija Board and a wine glass and you can discuss it with my pediatrician."

"I don't think so.  We need documentation," he said.

"All right. Let's examine why the photo on my driver's license is proof positive of who I am.  Do you see many other people, who look exactly like me, walking around with red birthmarks covering one half of their faces?  And canine teeth that are so long they can't close their mouths over them?  And how about the knife scar on the right cheek--did you miss that?  And the fact that I'm 6'7"tall?  How about the eye patch?  Or that I'm female and completely bald?  I really blend into a crowd, don't I?  Yeah, I could see where my identity could be in doubt."

"Do you have a passport, then?"


"Sir, if I had a passport, do you thnk I'd be living in this podunk town?"

"How about a birth certificate?"

Oh, sure.  I carry that with me all the time.  Never know when some IDIOT at a bank is going to want proof that I was born.  I restrained myself mightily.  "Sorry," I replied.

"Voter Registration Card?"

"Have you gotten a look at the candidates?"

"I see your point.  How about a Social Security Card, then?"

"No.  I am socially insecure."

I offered my fingerprints, a blood sample, a dental chart, and a fairly interesting amount of bribe money, but he would not be moved and was looking at me as if I had just returned from a grand tour of the city sewer system.

So, gentle reader, my hoard now resides within the secure confines of the First Mattress National Bank.  Give it a try.  There are no fees, it is impossible to be overdrawn, and nobody gives a damn who you are!

Disclaimer:  The above is, I hope, a comical rant.  It is exaggerated. It is not to be taken seriously.  It is a joke (and it makes me really sad that I have to point this out so I don't get hate mail).  Sigh.