It took me 2 hours of sitting around in the bank and saying the same thing over and over again to get a bank account. Here's the problem: when you arrive in the USA after not having lived there before it's like you never existed. It's like you were just born - that's how much credit you have. Except that you have less credit than that because you were just born an adult with no parents or family or history or anything. Luckily I had the foresight to carry with me massive money orders with all the money I could borrow against my Canadian investments, between the "I have money to put IN the bank" arguement and my wiley charms I was able to get a bank account despite the following:
-no american ID
-no proof of my address
-no valid SSN card ('cause after all I had only just been assigned a number, I didn't have it printed on a "fancy" wallet sized "card")
-no phone number
Thanks to Senor Bank Guy* at Bankopolis* I got sorted out so that I could do other things, like get a drivers lisence, auto insurance, and a phone...
*names of people and places have been changed to protect their identity, in case you couldn't figure that out, or actually believed I would open an account with a bank called Bankopolis - I'd sooner open one called Tomato Bank that is represented by dancing tomatoes...
1 comment:
Damnit! I was gearing up to use my Tomato Bank jokes and then you beat me to it and squashed my hopes not unlike an overly ripe tomato.
I can't help but think things would have been more confusing if you had gone to Tomato Bank. It looks like your free tomoto sauce will have to happen another time.
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