You Are Responsible For My Money????

In a stunning update to this post from November 29, 2018 let me share how I ended up spending my morning.

I have a friend who comments that every time she sees me, I am on my way to the bank. It’s not even funny because she is a good friend and I see her frequently and it’s actually a true statement.

I spend more time in the damn bank than a normal person should. Also, I have stopped receiving all communication from this bank so part of the reason for me going there is that I have to fetch my own damn bank statements since they have decided not to mail me anything anymore.

Please note: This is a large multinational French bank I am talking about.

So in short, I had a registered letter from the bank back in November. “Bring us proof of residency today or we close your account.” So I did. You can read about in the other post.

So I was in bed this morning reading a book called “Educated” by Tara Westover, and I had literally just planned my entire day when the phone rang. It included a good deal of reading that book and a trip out to Maroc Telecom to tell them that my Internet still doesn’t work.

Now let’s be clear. I am not a phone talker. I speak to one person by phone, most days, and for at least an hour. The rest of you – no.

I am DEFINITELY not a fan of answering a call from a random number and especially not a random Moroccan number. What good can come of that? But something told me to straighten my crown and answer it.

It was my friend Hasna. The nice lady in the business accounts department at the bank. Upstairs. Where the brains live. And they speak English. And do things.

“Madame,” she said, “do you have your carte de sejour?”

Ffs. Is she calling to rub it in? Is this a reminder that I need to get on it and redo ALL my paperwork… I can’t even speak of this right now.

“I must see some proof of residency today or they will close your account. It is very urgent.”

For the love of God how urgent can it be when this is the first I’ve heard of it?

I put down the darn book and get in the shower. Grab my utility bill and head to the bank.

Upstairs I go to the nice people. And by nice I mean, nice. They are polite and professional always. They remember my business name which is not memorable. I hand her my utility bill and she goes into the bosses office, where I can see her and two men talking about it. She and a man came out and I said, “is there a problem?”

“No,” she said. “This is the man that needs the proof.” He didn’t speak English.

“He needs to update your information for your personal account.”

We walked downstairs together and I pointed to the 4 offices. I said “I came in two months ago with document and gave it to the end office.” I pointed at each office in turn and said “doesn’t speak English, doesn’t speak English, doesn’t speak English, that one.”

She smirked at me and she said, “Madame, for anything you need, personal or business, just come and see me please.”

Noted, Hasna. Noted.

Then I took myself out for lunch as a reward for my extraordinary display of patience in the face of incompetence.

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