Help! I Need Someone!

Help!: A cry of distress or an urgent request for assistance.

It's not that I don't have anything else to talk about except for big, fat, stupid, evil Financial Institutions, or that I really am being eaten alive by their shenanigans.  I'm sure there's something else I could talk about but whatever that topic would be is escaping me at the moment.  
Of course, the big benefit to me of all of this endless rehashing of the excruciating minutia of my life is that it frees me from the task of repeating the conversations I have in my head with the various representatives of these organizations over and over and over again.  I took a long hike today, half of which I don't remember because I was deftly cutting some factotum off at the knees, with devastating, irrefutable wit and sarcasm.

"Did you enjoy your hike today?" asked SuperK.
"I dunno.  I guess," I said.
"It was a beautiful day," she prompted.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," I replied.

I'm sure glad I humped my ass for 8 miles with 2500 feet of elevation gain so I could remember none of it.  I'm just proud of myself if I don't fall over a cliff.

So.  The latest scrivener-infested snake pit that I'm probing is proving to be a worthy foe. Because I don't want to cast aspersions upon the blameless I'm going to disguise their true identity.  Let's call them PNC Banq.

Several eons ago I called their "Help" line and spoke to Thomas.  Very nice guy who requested that I email him a rasher of documents.  As I've grown in wisdom and paranoia I didn't wait very long before emailing again to make sure he got the stuff I sent.  Tally Ho, Seaweed, he said, Good to go, adding that someone from the Estate Team would be calling me back.

A black finger shivered up and down my spine.  Not the Estate Team.  Mental and emotional assassins, those bastards.

About a week later I call back and speak to Jessica to find out why the Estate Team isn't reaching out to me and guess what? she knows Thomas!  he sits right next to her! but he isn't there, he has the day off, or something.  Secretly? I think he's sitting right there, leaning companionably on Jessica's shoulder, listening in, stifling chuckles, slapping his desk gleefully as if he's ingested a really hot pepper.  She goes away and comes back and goes away and then comes back, regrettably informing me that she can't find the documents.  Could I send them again?  Off they go and I follow up immediately.  Got 'em, Seaweed! she says.  Someone from the Estate Team, etc etc etc.

Three days later I call back and talk to Sean.  Oh, yes, I see the documents here but you need to talk to John from the Estate Team and here's his direct line.  I leave a message for John.  The next day he calls back and assures me over and over that the Estate Team does this kind of stuff all the time, these requests come in every day, and we're definitely going to get this taken care of.  You're not on the Estate Team?  No, no, I'm your investment adviser.  Now, what are your parents' names?  My parents' names?  Don't you have the documents in front of you, I've sent them in like 87 times, they're stuffed with all kinds of important information like my PARENT's Names!!  Let's see, hmmm, sorry for the delay, no I don't seem to have any documents yet, could you send them over to me?  Into the electronical hemisphere they go and Sean has them!  Thanks so much and yessir, the Estate Team has been notified.

I think the Estate Team is the team to be on.  I have this mental image of severe people, in dress and temperament,  locked in a highly fortified room, insulated by ring after ring of defensive scriveners.  I mean, nobody can get through to the Estate Team.  The Estate Team probably doesn't even have phones.  They don't even pretend to work.  I'm afraid when I finally get to talk to them they're going to say yeah, we have the documents and we're not going to do Jack.  Shit.  With.  Them. 

I don't believe these people think they have any competitors.  Or, more likely, they know that their competitors suck just as badly as they do.  And I'm not even trying to take the money out.  I'm trying to leave the money in their institution.  All I want to do is change the legal name on the account.  And they all end most phone calls by asking if I want to send them some more money.  I've been pretty calm, usually replying that maybe we could start with this task first, the one that you're NOT COMPLETING.

The weirdest thing is the documents vanishing.  I have used a credit card thousands of times, from Vietnam to Morocco to Norway and never had a transaction lost, ever, yet I'm batting like .210 on the documents I'm sending.  That would seem to translate into a world where the banks only log one in five of my purchases.  The next time someone asks about additional investments I'm going to inquire as to how the fuck I'm supposed to send the money to them?  What form of communication would get the stuff to them?  

Not email, I'm assuming.