Even though I was only moving money from one bank to another, that's definitely the biggest check I've ever written. You'd think such an event would have my undivided attention, licensing neglect of everything else. But no. Mostly my brain is full of how to pick up children from schools on opposite sides of town, and when am I going to make dinner.
Me, to bank clerk: this is my account number. Would you confirm I'm putting this into my own account, an account with my name on it?
Guy in suit: okay, just a minute
Me: I think the account is filed under my financial advisor. (note: the account is NOT in the advisor's name. but they don't treat advisor accounts like normal accounts.)
Guy in suit: What is your advisor's name.
Me: /blink. blink.
I had just come from a meeting with my advisor. Isn't his name Bob? But then the mortgage guy is Bob. The real estate agent tasked with finding our million dollar house is Bob. And the accountant has always been Bob. What is it with all the white guys named Bob?
Guy in suit: Well, what company is your advisor with?
Me: uh. uh. Fidiciarysomething?
Guy in suit: Ah, Famous Fiduciary Empire that owns the big building in the city?
Me, miserable, and horrified by the thought of Empire touching my money: No, this is a smaller company. Fidush, Fidush, Fidush...
it's not coming back to me.
Guy in suit: well where is your advisor's office?
Me: uh, outside of town, one of the suburbs...
Dang, which suburb was it? It was one of those nice suburbs--was it the one to the east, or the north? Dang, if I could remember which direction I would know. But I've never been there.
I think about telling Guy I just came from a meeting with my advisor, in the coffee house down the street. But I'm feeling like too much an idiot. At the moment I don't know the name of the person I have investing my money. From what I know, I can't prove he even has an office--I've certainly never been there. Add to this the fact that my husband, my advisor, and etc., are all Mormon, this is starting to look like a classic Utah con job, without the actual Utah. But my husband has known Bob, or whatever his name is, for years, since back in college, and chose him to be our advisor back when I was still cooking up with 47 ways to eat our food storage.
Guy in suit, glancing at change his computer screen: Ah, here is your account. Yes, your name and Capt. Awesome's name are on it. And your advisor, Bob of Fiduciary Twoguys.
Me: Thank you. May I have a receipt?
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4 comments:
So, is this one of those Seriously So Blessed satire blogs? Because, if it is, I wanna know right now. Right now, I say! If not, I need to know where you got this instant money and right now! Right now, I say!
Money isn't rated R!
I can help you with your house hunting. I watch House Hunters and House Hunters international everyday, plus my husband has a broker's license, and at night, I sit on his knee in front of the MLS and look at bank-owned homes. Is very very romantic, obviously. So anyhow, I am like an expert.
(Since you don't actually know me, I think I shoud tell you that I am not being serious. I am not a real expert.)
And you should always give your full attention to checks you are writing over $500,000. Is good advice, really.
Anything under half a mil, feel free to daydream about Cinnabons.
Wow, what a story. I can't imagine the shock. Now you got me all dreaming about what I would do if a had a million dollars all of a sudden.
The first thing would be a new oven. Our original 1950's pale yellow oven burns anything and everything I try to cook in it these days.
Then maybe I would purchase a large Cherry on Top gift certificate for myself.
Good luck maneuvering these uncharted waters.
This is entertaining, but I don't know if I can read your blog because I'm SO. JEALOUS. Seriously. Is that bad form to say?
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