THE UNSIGNED CONTRACT

I spent a very large part of yesterday trying to get the mailing address for my mortgage company. Not the address for paying the bill, but where to send the tax paperwork so they could pay it out of my escrow account.

My bank wouldn’t give me the information. They said it was secret. Secret? It’s MY mortgage and I’m the one who pays the bill. But it was too secret to tell me, assuming they even had that address. So, I went to the website and there must have been thirty different addresses listed, one of which was for tax bills.

Except the address was incorrect. They have changed the name of the group that pays tax bills but neglected to notify those of us who have tax bills to be paid. This is what happens when you switch to online bills. You don’t get any details at all.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t get into my account which turned out to be my own fault because I omitted a number. Oops. Also, in the process of trying to argue with my bank into giving me the address of my mortgage company, I realized I couldn’t find my checkbook.

I rarely use checks these days, but I know I had some new ones. I have a vague memory of removing the checkbook because my bag was so heavy I could barely pick it up. I thought “Why keep all this stuff in here when I so rarely use it?”

Sadly, that’s the last memory I have. I don’t know if I accidentally threw it away during a cleanup effort or — worse — put it “someplace safe.”

“Someplace safe” means I will probably never see it again, or if I do, it will be years in the future and I won’t care anymore. I do have a couple of other checkbooks. Garry found them in the drawer under the printer and since our address hasn’t changed in 20 years, they are fine if we need a check. Still, I’d like to figure out where my checks and entry book went. I’m sure they’re in this house. Somewhere.

I looked hopefully at Garry and he looked blankly at me. He can barely find his own shit, much less mine. Ditto my son who thought my believing he might actually remember something was pretty funny. The dog, who thinks it’s too hot to go outside, was asleep and for once, I could hardly blame him.

I’m still mad at the bank. How can they prevent me from knowing the address of the biggest bill I pay? Did I sign some kind of contract that says they can do whatever they want with this information?

In an earlier, more innocent time, we actually had to add the address for our payees. Now, the moment we enter the name of the company, the bank grabs it and says “Okay, thanks. Ready to go.”

This is supposed to protect me from hacking. I think it is possible that it is mainly protecting the information from me. I am not going to be done in by the awful things happening in the world. I’m going to die of stupid details administered by mindless bureaucrats.



Categories: contract, Home, Humor, Photography

Tags: , , , , , ,

10 replies

  1. If it’s any comfort to you, I had the same problem in France with one of our providers, I don’t recall which one (gaz, water, electricity or other)….. I was so mad to have lost all my time only to give them the money they wanted that I started a chat online which finally gave me an indication of their whereabouts….

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  2. THE HACKERS RULE THE WORLD. IF THEY THEMSELVES ARE NOT ACTIVE, THE COMPANIES WE PATRONIZE (IN BOTH SENSES OF THE WORD) ARE IMPEDING OUR PROGRESS BY TRYING TO AVOID THEM.

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    • They protect information that has no value because it’s public information. I just wanted the address. I wasn’t looking for a code or the amount or anything critical. Just — where do I send this letter? It was really stupid. Mind you, they’ve been hacked twice that I know about.

      Like

  3. Don’t worry, just another sign of golden oldie-ensis. I have it too. Never put anything in a safe place, because it is usually so safe you forget where the safe place is. My purse was full of plastic, plastic that I never really used and I decided if I lost my purse the plastic reasons for my life would all disappear. I sorted it all and kept only the really necessary plastic I needed in the purse, which was one credit card and a couple of attached plastic bits. I do not even pay at the store with plastic. I have an app on my iPhone which does it all perfectly. Luckily you cannot lose an app, just perhaps forget the password, although I never log out so do not have to log in. There are rare occasions when I need Mr. Swiss plastic card for his bank, for paying his cigarette addiction. OK, at the age of 82 it cannot get worse than it is and he seems to thrive on it. However, I lost his card, I no longer had it in my purse. He contacted one of his banks (he has two banks) and with much backwards and forwards he got a new second card (he still had his original), The code did ot work on the new card, so he had to organise yet another new card. In the meanwhile I did a check in my safe place where I had put all the plastic I no longer really needed to carry around all the time. Yes, look what I found, the lost plastic card from Mr. Swiss account which was not really lost but in a super safe place. Although it has now been deactivated because I forgot my safe place. I now give the card to Mr. Swiss when I do not need it and he can put it in his own safe place. I am a golden oldie, Mr. Swiss is a golden oldie – we really have problems, double trouble. So Marilyn do not worry, you are not alone in this world of plastic, code numbers and telephone numbers. It is all in the name of progres and it is international.

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    • I had a valuable antique Native American necklace that I’d gotten from a Native American best friend. I needed to sell it and rather than see it go to a stranger, she offered to buy it back. When it came time to give her the necklace, I couldn’t find it. I have jewelry boxes. One is really big, like a small dresser almost, and the other two are standard large ones that stand on my dresser. I also have some cups (antique, Chinese porcelain but what’s the point in HAVING it if you never use it). I keep the cups near the bed so if I forget to take off my earrings or a ring or something small, I have a save place to stash it. AND I have two more little porcelain rice bowls in the bathroom where I keep the earrings and rings I wear every day.

      Since this necklace was probably the most valuable piece of jewelry I ever had, I had put it in a safe place. Except — yes, you got it — I had NO idea where that place was. I looked at Cherrie. She looked back. “Don’t tell me. You put it in a safe place.” I nodded.

      Almost TWO YEARS LATER, when I sold my piano, I found the necklace in the piano bench. It was the most unlikely location I could possibly have thought of. Oh, and I found another really nice bracelet in Garry’s sock drawer — at the very bottom. Under everything. HIS sock drawer? Why would I put it there? Was I sleep walking? Was it those pixies again?

      I keep all my unused plastic in a cabinet under the printer in what used to be my office. That’s also where I finally found my missing checkbook which was exactly where it was supposed to be and where I had repeatedly looked for it, yet there it was. Exactly where I had looked not once, but at least a dozen times.

      Alzheimer’s? My doctor says “not a chance,” but I swear, I have about 15 seconds of memory, after which whatever I was remembering is gone. Garry wants to know why I interrupt him with information. If I don’t tell him right away, I’ll forget it. In the end, it doesn’t matter because HE won’t remember that I told him. I write everything in my calendar and send copies to Garry so we have exactly the same reminders in the Google calendar. Except when I forget to write it down — and then it is gone.

      I can get rid of things. I just gave my granddaughter an entire set of Cuisinart cookware because I never used it. I’ll remember THAT, but if I took one of the pans and put it safely away, it would vanish in a heartbeat. Sometimes I worry me.

      Oh, and this morning, I realized I had a dark red bruise near my right eye and I was thinking “OH NO — some kind of horrible growth!” Until I remembered falling on my face a couple of days ago outside in the garden. I got tangled in a piece of rosebush. Good thing it had rained because the ground was soft and I didn’t break my glasses. My face will heal, but glasses are expensive!

      Liked by 2 people

  4. This sounds like a ridiculous situation, Marilyn. Our bank sends us a tax certificate every year but I know USA tax is more complex and difficult. Good luck with it all.

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    • I wasn’t looking for the tax. I could get that information by calling Town Hall. I just wanted the address so I could send them the new taxes. They wouldn’t give me the address. So I had to call the bank and THEY weren’t sure what the address was either. They had a lot of addresses, but each time I called, I got a different address. Apparently it’s based on where you live.

      I JUST WANTED THE ADDRESS. I wasn’t looking for my tax code or how much I owe or even how much I pay per month to cover it. JUST the address. That is what made it so ridiculous.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. this is so crazy, and I’ve dealt with a similar situation –

    Like

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