I went to the bank today to give them some forms so we could effect wire transfers from the internet.
The flaw in my plan was that unlike the form online, this one required a signature and the account is in Paul's name. He also was at work already. So I signed it myself. I have forged his name dozens of times, including when we worked together and I needed something approved. It's never been an issue.
But of course this time it was. I handed the paperwork to the teller who said the signature did not match the one she had on file. Hmm, I said. Perhaps he just got sloppy? No, she said. It didn't resemble it and she was sorry, she couldn't take the form. Was he in the U.S. she asked? I said no, because then it would clearly be obvious that I forged the signature. I said he was at work and she asked that we come back tomorrow.
I tried to give her all sorts of substantiating documents, including his passport and my driver's license, indicating I was, in fact, sharing his name and his address. But it was no good.
Ultimately, this is a good thing. I was asking for access to his account and for permission to move 100,000 Hong Kong dollars per day. It would have been dangerous if she had a doubt. But I found it curious that she was worried enough about the matching signatures not to approve it, but not worried enough about my forgery to, say, have me arrested.
Again, a good thing.
Trump, Kim, ‘Dotard’ — and JRR Tolkien
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