It’s snowing words…everywhere.
It’s actually worse than the wet, cold stuff we’ve all gotten so used to, this year.
This particular snow can’t be shoveled fast enough…except by the person who is shoveling it on top of you.
I’m talking about the runaround people give you when they’re trying to avoid discussing an issue.
No issue in particular…pick one…any one.
If they don’t want to discuss it or simply don’t have a cogent reply at hand…out comes the snow.
Piles and piles of snow on top of snow pile after snow pile….
You might have a different name for it.
But I think I’ll stick with snow.
I’ll start with lawyers, because in any discussion of this particular brand of snow that’s the first thing that pops into my head.
That and a pair of hip boots, because attorneys can pile it pretty deep.
Last year I spent a great amount of time dealing with a lawyer.
No…it had nothing to do with that incident with the cube steak and the Chihuahua.
This was about something else, altogether, concerning heady financial matters, and if you know me at all…you know that would have nothing to do with me, personally.
Anyway, if the lawyer, or more precisely, the lawyer’s paralegal who actually does 99% of the lawyering, without the credit, much less the money, called me and requested documents and or any sort of information, including my list of currently owned pre-Sgt. Pepper Beatle albums, in order of preference—which, to be honest, I found odd, because how do you not include Sgt. Pepper in that request—I would immediately drop what I was doing…napping is way over rated anyway—scan the requested items and instantly return e-mail the documents.
Then I would wait…and wait… and wait…and wait…sometimes for days…and not hear anything back… from a-n-y-b-od-y…..
But I was cool with that, I figured they were busy, you know, getting someone off for murder or something…or possibly saving some poor endangered species from extinction.
So I would wait about another 6 weeks or so, or at least until I brought all the crops in for the fall, and still nothing.
Finally, I would send a gentle little e-mail wondering what the status was.
Which would be followed by about 2 dozen return e-mails, apologizing for the delay, detailing the many reasons it couldn’t be avoided, along with a “rough” “tentative” time frame of things to expect down the road…as soon as I sent back the completed documents and forms they requested…which I had already returned 6 weeks previous and after the crops…including the list of Beatle albums.
When I would then politely respond that all of the requested material had indeed been returned weeks ago, and I had been patiently waiting for a response as to what the next steps were, I was told that of course they received the material and reviewed it all—twice—but were still trying to decide whether or not they should include Sgt. Pepper.
Once all that was cleared up and I dug myself out of the snow pile, I would then move on to call the big important investment company that had asked me to “FAX”— because most of these places are still stuck in the 90’s when it comes to proprietary technology— several of the legal documents in question, along with several signed releases, or whatever it is big important investment companies require you to send, which the big important investment company’s astute Customer Service Representative told me would be handled, post haste...because, let’s face it, nobody likes to do anything pre-haste, because there’s always a chance you could ruin the whole hasting experience by doing so.
Of course, once again, after waiting another 6 weeks and plowing the fields in order to plant next year’s crops, I still haven’t gotten any confirmation that my request had been granted or even received.
And, as before, I was cool with that, as well. These things take time, especially if you’re busy looking to find a way to take money from one account in order to pay another, without yet another account noticing that their Annuity Fund is now being calculated in penny denominations.
But, really…that’s on me. I guess I should have known that the WWBD on their business cards stood for …”What Would Bernie Do?”
So finally…again…I make a call and once again maneuver my way through the 90 minute maze of Convenient Automated Customer Service “Options” until I finally get to speak to a “real live” person.
So what if it was Hillary, the lady emptying out the office waste baskets…it was a person… a “real live” person.
Of course Hillary is just as flummoxed as I am about the whole situation and tells me she doesn’t know why anyone would have told me to fill out the XK-246-B-R forms, when my situation clearly called for the JHT-753-H short forms.
So Hillary, being the competent office wastebasket emptier that she is, sends me the proper forms and tells me to avoid the office fax machine, because it’s just too swamped and wisely advises that I send all my account information to hear private home Fax, which is less swamped.
So I did, and this time I only had to wait 3 weeks before I called to see what the deal was, which again was met with confusion and an absolute lack of knowledge about my situation.
They didn’t even know if a Hillary worked there or not.
Believe me I can’t make this stuff up…too much.
But I’m not that concerned, I’m pretty sure Hillary is on top of things because last time I checked all of my money had been moved out of the account.
So she must be working on something.
Who am I to question what?
So once that’s under control I have to call the credit card company…again…and get another run around from them as to why I’m getting all these charges from that resort in Costa Rica…
Just one more snow pile of words …piles and piles of snow on top of snow pile after snow pile….
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