JON: One of the minor irritations of being an expat is that I keep having to prove my identity to many and varied financial institutions all of whom require proof that I am me and that I live where I claim I do. They say this is to combat money laundering, which can apparently be prevented by the presentation of a utility bill. Annoyingly, different firms require different information: some want my passport, others are happy with a gas bill; some want originals, others will make do with a photocopy.
This week I had to go to the bank (again) to get a certified copy of my passport. I’ve done this several times before with no problem, but this time the clerk wanted to know why I needed the copy. I hadn’t expected this question so had no rehearsed script ready for this. Unfortunately, stress, surprises and snap decisions go very badly with Parkinson’s disease. So although I attempted to answer, my mouth just seized up and I simply could not get a word out. Fortunately Marie was with me and was able to “sort me out”, which basically involved getting the clerk to repeat himself and then attempting to make a dignified retreat. I don’t think anyone noticed (much).
Anyway, the following day we returned (same bank, different branch – I do have some pride left), but this time with the letter explaining why the foreign financial institution wanted the information. And of course the clerk in the second branch was perfectly happy to certify my passport, disdainfully waving away the letter that the first clerk had insisted on.
If you, first clerk, are reading this, you know who you are ... and just remember that you know where I live.
This week I had to go to the bank (again) to get a certified copy of my passport. I’ve done this several times before with no problem, but this time the clerk wanted to know why I needed the copy. I hadn’t expected this question so had no rehearsed script ready for this. Unfortunately, stress, surprises and snap decisions go very badly with Parkinson’s disease. So although I attempted to answer, my mouth just seized up and I simply could not get a word out. Fortunately Marie was with me and was able to “sort me out”, which basically involved getting the clerk to repeat himself and then attempting to make a dignified retreat. I don’t think anyone noticed (much).
Anyway, the following day we returned (same bank, different branch – I do have some pride left), but this time with the letter explaining why the foreign financial institution wanted the information. And of course the clerk in the second branch was perfectly happy to certify my passport, disdainfully waving away the letter that the first clerk had insisted on.
If you, first clerk, are reading this, you know who you are ... and just remember that you know where I live.
Here is the hole I hoped would open up to swallow me:
1 comment:
I don't get it.
why would a bank have a copy of your own passport?
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