It’s not the bank!

I have to suck it up here and admit that I jumped to the wrong conclusion regarding our issues with our bank, and wire transfers we’re expecting from the very smart people in Texas who are *allegedly* looking after our “Ex-Pat Expenses”.

First of all,  therein lies the good news.  Once we get all this crapola cleared up, Travelling Companion will no longer have to deal with these boffoons.  (Texas people,  not the bank people)  So,  if she has to fly out to Edmonton say (yes, that might just happen),  then The Company that Cannot be Named can pay her directly out of the Burlington office.  Directly into the bank,  just the way the very smart people in Texas are supposed to do.

Let’s not forget though,  that there was indeed some wrong information on a form provided to me by the bank earlier on,  but that’s not the issue any more.  Or it least it shouldn’t be.

Really and truly,  I should have had some sort of “tag” on all the posts over the last four years wherein I’ve ranted about these Texas dough heads.  There would be quite the string of posts,  trust me.   The thing is,  I never in my wildest dreams thought they would continue to be so stupid.  I mean,  T.C. was one of the first Ex-Pats in Austria,  so we chalked up their dough-headedness to inexperience.  Of course,  they do have an office in the U.K., so we never could figure out why we were dealing with an endless string of toothless wonders somewhere in Texas.  What would they possibly know about Europe? 

Not much,  it turns out. 

But that’s in the past. 

We’ve had that rather large bowel movement,  but the unfortunate thing is that there are a few little clumps of cr*p hanging around that just don’t want to fall into the bowl.   Best analogy I can come up with,  without using really,  really bad language.

It turns out that they have a knack for making up sh*t.

(like the theme?)

I’m just sticking with the excrement theme here for as long as possible.   You can work “sticking” in there somewhere too,  if you have a mind to.

 

A few days ago,  I soldered down to the local branch here and we made absolutely sure that we had all the correct information so that wire transfers would come through just tickety-boo.  I figured that was that.  They would now know just what an account number looks like,  and that our bank address is not “Scotia Plaza”.   Where they got that one from,  we have no idea.   “Scotia Plaza” is an office building in downtown Toronto.  Owned (presumably) by Scotiabank.  Nothing to do with day to day banking.  I’ve never been there.  We don’t live there.  There’s no bank there!

 

Well,  as of today still no money had come through.  *grumble*   This time around though,  I had the name of an actual contact person at the branch down the street here,  and lo and behold,  she answered her phone!  I was sitting down at the time.  Probably just as well.

Apparently the branch,  or at least those who were in the know,  were on some sort of ‘high alert’,  since she knew exactly what I was talking about (wha?)  and said there was indeed a wire transfer that had come through today, BUT that they STILL had the wrong information on the damned thing!  So, in spite of receiving the correct information from us,  (It was on a form.  I scanned it.  We sent it!) these twits in their twisted imperialistic type of thinking,  had discounted the information that had been provided,  and decided to just make up some shit on their own.  Because I mean,  they must know better than those simple Canadians.   Interesting to note though,  how our banks had no issues whatsoever in the “big crash” of 08-09,  but I’ll not offer any opinions on American style banking.  Because I mean,  they *know*,  right?

 

I don’t recall moving to “Scotia Plaza”.  That’s all.  Why would you put something back on a form when you have explicitly been told to leave it off?   Why oh why?   And the account number is 12 digits,  not seven.  Just write it in there,  would ya?

The latest is,  they wired us a couple hundred back on March 11th,  (I knew nothing of this until it was pointed out to me by T.C.) and apparently it went into an account.  Just not ours.   I can go on line.  I can see all the ins and outs of that account,  going back as far as my little heart desires.   It. ain’t. there. 

 

My new contact at the bank is now on the trail of this mysterious two hundred bucks.    All told,  we’re out about eight Gs though.

All I can say is,  it’s a damned good thing we don’t *need* this money right now,  or we’d be in deep,  you know,  excrement. 

 

********

 

 

 

Speaking of games I didn’t know I was playing….

(like that one?)

 

 

There’s nobody in there.  Just the cat.  Waiting for someone to walk by it seems.  (*he’s a bit nuts*)

 

 

 

Today’s offering.

 

Not that I need something to distract me from any perceived banking “issues” or anything,  but baking something never hurts.  It’s all I got.

I may very well be in a banana bread induced coma later today.   Just in case I never utter another peep.

Now you know.

 

Peace out.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

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