Trying not to set off the fraud alarm with my own checkbook…

Posted: July 28, 2011 in Uncategorized

You know, of all the things I’d realized would be an issue prior to the loss of Jill (better known as Righty), for some inexplicable reason– I somehow neglected to take into account the importance of my John Hancock.  For those of you reading this believing that I’ve just made a two-part wank joke, I can appreciate where your head is.  However, you are a pervert for getting hung up on my dong of distraction, and neglecting to take the title into account and realizing the opportunistic segue.

Ok, I promise, I’ll stop playing the prick for the rest of the entry.

Seriously, there’s topical matter to be covered.

Taking it from the top, I’ve been lefty-signing my initials on credit card receipts.  Yes, I realize the dubious financial legaities of this sort of behavior, but as long as I don’t have a reason to be a choad and dispute anything– all is well (Dammit!  Seriously, last one.).  So far, medical and financial initialing has worked flawlessly, with those needing my signature happily accommodating my infirmity.

Then came today.  Reality check for the right-handed lefty.  Anything related to the usage of a check means no such accommodation.  I had to endorse my first workman’s comp check.  Problem!  I can’t sign my damn name lefty!  So, amid a cloud of obscenity, I sat down at my desk at my apartment and tried to get Rosie to forge Jill’s signature.  This endeavor was so filled with fail, I couldn’t bring myself to take a picture to post.  Yeah, that bad.

So, before addressing the problem with the bank, I decided to pay the rent.  I stood at the secretary’s desk and laboriously filled out my personal check in front of her, primarily so she knew no shenanigans were involved with it.  Then the fun, I tried to grab the pen with Jill.  One, ow.  Two, damn near impossible.  Luckily, I was able to scribble a pseudo-geriatric signature, and she took the check.  Here’s to hoping nobody at the bank calls bullshit, and I have to cast-club someone as a result.  Then I realized that endorsing and depositing my paycheck might also bring… issues.

However, I thought quickly and realized that I had an ace in the hole.  Coincidentally and conveniently, my store goes through the same bank branch I do–  so I am familiar with many of the tellers.  To my jubilation (no, seriously), the one I am most familiar with was working.  She deciphered the deposit slip easily, but told me that the endorsement had to be—  dum dum dummmm!  My signature.

So yeah.  That was fun.  Here’s to hoping that none of the potential financial institutions involved decide that I’m attempting to defraud my own finances just because I can’t sign my own friggin’ name.  That’ll be about as delightful as defecating into an upward-facing box fan.

I only have to do this another 7-8 times at least.  If I don’t have as good a grip on the situation as I think, I foresee myself getting shafted hardcore.

Yeah, I lied.  And you love it.

Unplug.

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Comments
  1. SB says:

    You know… you could try laying on the charm, greasing the wheels – applying the lube – and talk to the bank manager and see if you can do a temporary authorized signature card for while Jill’s out of commission. Or is that too much thinking with the wrong head?

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