Once my brother became Willie’s guardian, we thought our days of funky financial transactions were over. 

My brother gave me a stack of Willie’s checks — signed by him as per the guardianship — so I could pay for Willie’s, well, shenanigans. 

But those checks — they bounced. 

We discovered bank policy required that Willie get new checks, with her and my brother’s names on them. Checks with Willie’s name alone are not valid. 

Now, did the court divulge this possibility during the guardianship hearing? 

No. 

Did the bank tell anyone this when we submitted the guardianship documents? 

They did not. 

Even worse was a random change of bank rules, a few months before Indy died. Willie discovered she couldn’t access her bank account online. 

I called the bank.  

When I asked why the account couldn’t be accessed online, I, apparently, was basically asking for the nuclear football or Salinger’s autograph. The bank representative immediately asked for my name. 

And address. 

And phone number. 

“Why do you need this information?” I asked. 

“To be sure you are who you say you are,” the representative replied. 

I was flummoxed. Indy and Willie were there. They verified their identities. What difference did it make who I am? 

And how did providing information obtainable with one good internet search prove I am who I say I am? 

How — how do I know I am who I say I am? 

Identity authenticated, the representative explained Willie could access the account once the bank received copies of Willie and Indy’s state-issued photo identification cards. 

That — that’s what was so top secret? The bank needed copies of their driver’s licenses? 

This being Indy and Willie, there was a hiccup in the whole state-issued identification card. 

Indy and Willie were no longer driving. Their licenses had expired. 

Oh, sure. We could get non-driver’s license photo identification. 

But Indy was too frail to spend hours at the DMV.  

I figured we could forego online banking access for the time being. 

Then Indy died, and we had a funeral bill to pay. 

I was concerned the funeral expenses might trigger a fraud alert. So I called Willie’s bank to warn them of the impending charge. 

They verified Willie’s identity. 

Then they asked for my name. 

And address. 

And phone number. 

“The only thing I’m doing,” I said to the representative, “is holding the phone so my widowed mother can pay for my father’s funeral without a fraud alert.” 

“Your name, ma’am,” the representative said. 

I’ve never heard condolences offered that way before. Huh. Interesting. 

Willie proved she was Willie, I proved I was me, and the representative told us they could do nothing on their end to alert the bank Willie was about to put some serious dough on her plastic. 

“We don’t have your photo ID,” the bank told us. 

“I’ll pay it,” my husband whispered to me. “If her card doesn’t go through, I’ll pay it.” 

I once saw a post saying a person worthy of your love should treat you the way Tormund Giantsbane treats Brienne of Tarth on Game of Thrones.  

But if you have a husband who will pay for your father’s funeral, well that’s pretty darn good, too. 

A few weeks after Indy died, the bank sent Willie a letter. The letter said they were aware of Indy’s death. 

And that Willie had to call them. 

Immediately. 

So Willie and I called. 

I don’t think I need to tell you the bank asked for my identifiers, then refused to discuss the letter because they didn’t have Willie’s photo identification. 

I had a link from the bank — a link to upload Willie’s identification. 

So I took Willie to the DMV. Photo identification at long last in hand, I uploaded it to the link. 

Except it wouldn’t populate. 

For an hour, I tried uploading that identification.  

Nothing worked.  

So I went to Willie’s. We called the bank. 

I think you can guess what happened. 

That the bank wouldn’t tell me why I couldn’t get Willie’s identification to load because they didn’t have Willie’s identification was as frustrating as the time I went to see The Exorcist reboot, popcorn in hand, only to be confronted by a dark screen because I was the only one who bought tickets. 

I mean, I tried, Leslie Odom Jr. Really, I did. 

So I emailed the CEO. 

Not the CEO of The Exorcist. Which, I presume, is The Devil. 

The CEO of the bank. 

The bank may be unwilling to look up contact information online. But I’m not. 

The CEO’s staff explained I couldn’t upload Willie’s identification in the link because, without Willie’s photo in her account, the bank wouldn’t allow Willie’s identification to be uploaded. 

So maybe you shouldn’t send customers a link to upload their photo identification?

Just a thought.  

If I tell you this took four months to resolve, you’ll think me as hyperbolic as the possessions in The Exorcist reboot. 

Perhaps you’d like me to write you a check for your troubles. 

Hope you like rubber.