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: #Photography, Home, Humor

Tags: #Photography, Banks, contract, Daily prompt, humor, losing your stuff, Marilyn Armstrong