Welcome to the Olympics of Incompetence
Incompetent. . . can you say that?
Is it me?
I’m at the bank. My dad is with me. I want to be added as a legal signature to my dad’s trust account. We have a copy of the trust. We have the first and the second amendments of the trust. (Hey, people die.)
We both have two forms of ID. We have a notarized power of attorney for me over the trust. We have a reappraisal of the house, and my mom’s death certificate.
Four hours later, they can’t actually confirm that I have been added as a valid signature to the trust checking account. For heaven’s sake, I just want to be able to pay the heating bill if my dad can’t write a check.
Four days later, they are still checking the validity of the power of attorney. Seriously?
There isn’t one legal document they have asked for that we didn’t provide. We are related. We are citizens. We both have had accounts at that bank for 30 years. I can’t imagine how difficult this would be if one of us was from another country, if we were unrelated, or if we were, God forbid, unprepared.
Plant me!
Exactly
what do
they think
we are trying
to pull?
Incompetence has an attitude. It says: “Don’t ask questions. Don’t expect results. It’s not my fault. I just work here, sort of.”
Are you questioning my authority?
Guess what? No one is believing your act. If you divide the world into learners and non-learners, I am running into all the non-learners. Some have college degrees. Some were raised by wolves. Some are too poor to pay attention. Some are too entitled to care.
Just do your damn job. Better yet, go get a job you can do. Ar-r-r-gh!
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