1/11/12
1/9/12
How Big An Ass is Bank of America?
Hey, Bank of America, how many times do I have to tell you my husband is dead?
by Kaili Joy GrayFollow
Jan. 06, 2012
Dear Bank of America,
My husband died on May 12, 2010. You know this because I dutifully informed you shortly after he died. And you so generously told me that since he was such a valued customer, and you sure were going to miss his business, that I, lucky widow that I am, could take over the outstanding balance on his credit cards and pay you those thousands of dollars you won't be able to squeeze out of his dead corpse. So kind of you.
But your kindness didn't end there. Oh no. Because despite those oh-so-enjoyable conversations and exchanging of documents, his death somehow didn't make it into the right databases. Apparently, I failed to personally inform each and every Bank of America employee of his demise, failed to personally deliver a certified copy of his death certificate to your each and every branch, failed to make it clear that he was, like, really dead and isn't coming back, so no, he will never be available to sign any of your forms.
My bad, Bank of America. I'm so sorry for my failure.
But your thoughtfulness knows no bounds, Bank of America, so you make sure we have the same conversation each time I need to make a deposit or withdrawal or get a copy of a statement. Every transaction from his trust account must be made in person because of course your policy is to make sure that widows who deal with their husbands' trust accounts can't just do it online, like all of your other banking. Nope, widows must come into the bank each time, must sit down with you each time, must show you the death certificate each time, must tell you the story of his death—the date, the location, the status of our marriage, the color socks he was wearing at the time—each and every time.
And each and every time, you assure me that you're so sorry and you'll be sure to make a note on the account and enter the information into the system so that I won't have to collapse in tears in the middle of your bank the next time I have business to do. You promise. Pinky swear. Here, have a tissue.
Until, of course, your policies change again and you need to see the death certificate again and make another copy, but this time will be the last time.
Really, Bank of America, it's so thoughtful of you to ensure that banking transactions are so time-consuming and personal. You see, I have so many tasks and obligations as his widow, but these little exchanges you insist we have really help add some excitement to the otherwise monotonous grieving process.
But that's not all. Oh no. Because despite the dozens of conversations we've had wherein I explain to you—again—that he can't sign that form you need him to sign on account of him being dead, you felt that his death was no excuse for him not paying monthly fees on his old checking account you were supposed to have closed a year ago. You can imagine my surprise when I received a notice that my dead husband owed you, Bank of America, hundreds of dollars in overdraft fees because you'd been helping yourself to his money, a month at a time, until the account was emptied and then overdrawn.
Is this because I declined your generous offer to pay off his credit card? Is it because you knew I had better things to do than check to make sure that account you said you'd closed was actually, you know, closed? I guess I can't blame you for trying to squeeze every last penny out of his corpse. After all, Bank of America, your CEO did tell us last year that you have a right to make a profit. Even off a dead guy.
I really have to thank you, Bank of America, for today's little exchange. See, silly me, I thought I could just walk into the bank and make a deposit into my account of a check made out to both me and my husband. My bad, I know. Because of course you need his signature as well. You couldn't possibly allow me to rip off my dead husband. I understand, you're just looking out for his best interests, making sure I'm not swindling his corpse out of that $100 I naively thought I could deposit. After all, you really valued him as a customer.
You made the same promises and assurances to me that you always do, offered with the same insincere apologies. Oh, you're so sorry for my loss. You're so sorry to have to ask me these questions for the eleventy billionth time. You'll be sure to make a note on the account that my husband's signature should not be required for any further transactions, on account of how dead people have a hell of a time signing their name. But you mean it this time, right? You promise? Pinky swear?
I'm sure you'll be heartbroken to know, Bank of America, that this whole sordid probate business is coming to completion, and that account will be closed and emptied soon. So we won't have this quality time together much longer, wherein you tell me you can't possibly process my money without hearing the whole story of my husband's death—again. And reviewing all the paperwork—again. And then letting me know just how sorry you are for this loss we share—for me, the loss of my husband, and for you, more importantly, the loss of such a customer who was so valuable to you until he stopped paying you those monthly fees on account of being, you know, dead.
Believe me, Bank of America, I'm counting down the days until our relationship comes to a close. I know it must be hard for you. Allow me to offer you my condolences. Here, have a tissue. It's the least I can do to help you through this difficult process.
Just one more thing, Bank of America, and I mean this from the bottom of my grieving widow's heart:
Fuck you. No, seriously, fuck you.
Most sincerely,
One really pissed off widow
by Kaili Joy GrayFollow
Jan. 06, 2012
Dear Bank of America,
My husband died on May 12, 2010. You know this because I dutifully informed you shortly after he died. And you so generously told me that since he was such a valued customer, and you sure were going to miss his business, that I, lucky widow that I am, could take over the outstanding balance on his credit cards and pay you those thousands of dollars you won't be able to squeeze out of his dead corpse. So kind of you.
But your kindness didn't end there. Oh no. Because despite those oh-so-enjoyable conversations and exchanging of documents, his death somehow didn't make it into the right databases. Apparently, I failed to personally inform each and every Bank of America employee of his demise, failed to personally deliver a certified copy of his death certificate to your each and every branch, failed to make it clear that he was, like, really dead and isn't coming back, so no, he will never be available to sign any of your forms.
My bad, Bank of America. I'm so sorry for my failure.
But your thoughtfulness knows no bounds, Bank of America, so you make sure we have the same conversation each time I need to make a deposit or withdrawal or get a copy of a statement. Every transaction from his trust account must be made in person because of course your policy is to make sure that widows who deal with their husbands' trust accounts can't just do it online, like all of your other banking. Nope, widows must come into the bank each time, must sit down with you each time, must show you the death certificate each time, must tell you the story of his death—the date, the location, the status of our marriage, the color socks he was wearing at the time—each and every time.
And each and every time, you assure me that you're so sorry and you'll be sure to make a note on the account and enter the information into the system so that I won't have to collapse in tears in the middle of your bank the next time I have business to do. You promise. Pinky swear. Here, have a tissue.
Until, of course, your policies change again and you need to see the death certificate again and make another copy, but this time will be the last time.
Really, Bank of America, it's so thoughtful of you to ensure that banking transactions are so time-consuming and personal. You see, I have so many tasks and obligations as his widow, but these little exchanges you insist we have really help add some excitement to the otherwise monotonous grieving process.
But that's not all. Oh no. Because despite the dozens of conversations we've had wherein I explain to you—again—that he can't sign that form you need him to sign on account of him being dead, you felt that his death was no excuse for him not paying monthly fees on his old checking account you were supposed to have closed a year ago. You can imagine my surprise when I received a notice that my dead husband owed you, Bank of America, hundreds of dollars in overdraft fees because you'd been helping yourself to his money, a month at a time, until the account was emptied and then overdrawn.
Is this because I declined your generous offer to pay off his credit card? Is it because you knew I had better things to do than check to make sure that account you said you'd closed was actually, you know, closed? I guess I can't blame you for trying to squeeze every last penny out of his corpse. After all, Bank of America, your CEO did tell us last year that you have a right to make a profit. Even off a dead guy.
I really have to thank you, Bank of America, for today's little exchange. See, silly me, I thought I could just walk into the bank and make a deposit into my account of a check made out to both me and my husband. My bad, I know. Because of course you need his signature as well. You couldn't possibly allow me to rip off my dead husband. I understand, you're just looking out for his best interests, making sure I'm not swindling his corpse out of that $100 I naively thought I could deposit. After all, you really valued him as a customer.
You made the same promises and assurances to me that you always do, offered with the same insincere apologies. Oh, you're so sorry for my loss. You're so sorry to have to ask me these questions for the eleventy billionth time. You'll be sure to make a note on the account that my husband's signature should not be required for any further transactions, on account of how dead people have a hell of a time signing their name. But you mean it this time, right? You promise? Pinky swear?
I'm sure you'll be heartbroken to know, Bank of America, that this whole sordid probate business is coming to completion, and that account will be closed and emptied soon. So we won't have this quality time together much longer, wherein you tell me you can't possibly process my money without hearing the whole story of my husband's death—again. And reviewing all the paperwork—again. And then letting me know just how sorry you are for this loss we share—for me, the loss of my husband, and for you, more importantly, the loss of such a customer who was so valuable to you until he stopped paying you those monthly fees on account of being, you know, dead.
Believe me, Bank of America, I'm counting down the days until our relationship comes to a close. I know it must be hard for you. Allow me to offer you my condolences. Here, have a tissue. It's the least I can do to help you through this difficult process.
Just one more thing, Bank of America, and I mean this from the bottom of my grieving widow's heart:
Fuck you. No, seriously, fuck you.
Most sincerely,
One really pissed off widow
12/30/11
Fighting the Good Fight
By Norman Lear
December 30, 2011
I was recently shown a picture from one of the Occupy protests taking place across the country. It featured a young woman surrounded by police. She was the only protester in the picture, but she didn't seem intimidated. All by herself, up against the police barricade, she held a handwritten sign saying simply "I am a born again American."
I've never met this woman, but I think I know exactly what she's feeling.
I had my first "born again American" moment 30 years ago, when I was moved to outrage and action by a group of hate-preaching televangelists who were trying to claim sole ownership of patriotism, faith and flag for the far right. One of them asked his viewing congregation to pray for the removal of a Supreme Court justice.
I did what I knew how to do and produced a 60-second TV spot. It featured a factory worker whose family members, all Christians, held an array of political beliefs. He didn't believe that anyone, not even a minister, had a right to judge whether people were good or bad Christians based on their political views. "That's not the American way," he wound up saying. I ran it on local TV, and it was picked up by the networks. People For the American Way grew out of the overwhelming response to that ad.
One of the most encouraging things to happen in 2011 was the birth of the Occupy Wall Street movement, which is giving the entire country the chance for a "born again American" moment. In calling attention to the country's widening chasm between rich and poor, the Occupiers have unleashed decades of pent-up patriotic outrage against the systematic violation of our nation's core principles by the "say good-bye to the middle class" alliance of the neocons, theocons and corporate America.
To those many millions of Americans whose guts tell them the Occupy movement is on to something but aren't the sort to camp out or protest in the street, I say find another way to let your voice be heard in the new year. Work with others who share your passion for equal opportunity and equal justice for all Americans, and find ways to channel outrage into productive action. I'm betting you'll find, as I have over my nearly four score plus 10, that you'll form some of the most rewarding relationships and have some of the most meaningful experiences of your life.
I have been lucky in many ways. I was raised by my immigrant grandfather to treasure the freedom and opportunities America offers. I also learned early to fear the power of demagogues with megaphones, as an 11-year-old listening to the anti-Semitic ravings and attacks on President Franklin D. Roosevelt from radio priest Father Coughlin, the spiritual godfather of those who poison our airwaves and online forums today. By the time I was a teenager, I knew that the values of individual and religious liberty were worth fighting for, which is why I dropped out of college to enlist in the war against Hitler.
Since then I have repeatedly seen Americans get off their couches to hold this country accountable to its stated values. They did it to fight for civil rights and the dismantling of the legal apartheid of Jim Crow; for the women's movement; for equality for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Americans. They have rallied to ensure that immigrants are treated with dignity and justice. All these efforts to overcome bigotry and institutionalized prejudice are still works in progress, but I am awed by the progress we have made.
Generations of Americans have worked to create a nation in which individual liberty can thrive alongside commitment to the principle that all members of a community should have the opportunity to pursue their dreams and build a decent life for themselves and their families. In recent decades, that dream has been betrayed.
The religious right leaders who got me engaged in politics often portray such things as free expression and equal protection for all Americans no matter their race, religion or sexual orientation as anti-Christian and un-American, as symptoms of cultural decline. I couldn't disagree more. What strikes me as un-American are the greed, deception and systematic corruption that have infected politics, business and so much of our culture in recent years. Some of those with power and privilege have worked to create a system that continually reinforces that privilege and power, leaving ever-increasing numbers of Americans without reasonable hope for the kind of life their parents worked to give them.
Many Americans are in despair, and it has left them open to demagoguery and political manipulation. Blame gays, liberals, unions, immigrants or feminists for your family's struggles, for shrinking economic opportunity, for foreclosures and disappearing wages and benefits. Blame secularists or Muslims, or both, for the sense that our values have gone haywire.
A year out from the 2012 election, I am already tired of those who use the phrase "American exceptionalism" to reassert the far-right's claim that God, the Founding Fathers and any decent freedom-loving American must share their reactionary political agenda. I embrace the idea too that our nation should be a "shining city on a hill." We are the spiritual heirs to those Americans who struggled to end slavery and segregation, to end child labor and win safe conditions and living wages for workers, to enable every American to enrich his or her community and country by finding a place and a way to flourish in the world. We must make ourselves worthy of that legacy.
Call it the American dream, the American promise or the American way. Whatever term you use, it is imperiled, and worth fighting for. It is that basic, deeply patriotic emotion that I believe is finding expression — bottom-up, small-d democratic expression — in the Occupy movement. We can, and I would say must, fully embrace both love of country and outrage at attempts to despoil it. What better cause? What better time?
Television writer and producer Norman Lear founded People for the American Way.
December 30, 2011
I was recently shown a picture from one of the Occupy protests taking place across the country. It featured a young woman surrounded by police. She was the only protester in the picture, but she didn't seem intimidated. All by herself, up against the police barricade, she held a handwritten sign saying simply "I am a born again American."
I've never met this woman, but I think I know exactly what she's feeling.
I had my first "born again American" moment 30 years ago, when I was moved to outrage and action by a group of hate-preaching televangelists who were trying to claim sole ownership of patriotism, faith and flag for the far right. One of them asked his viewing congregation to pray for the removal of a Supreme Court justice.
I did what I knew how to do and produced a 60-second TV spot. It featured a factory worker whose family members, all Christians, held an array of political beliefs. He didn't believe that anyone, not even a minister, had a right to judge whether people were good or bad Christians based on their political views. "That's not the American way," he wound up saying. I ran it on local TV, and it was picked up by the networks. People For the American Way grew out of the overwhelming response to that ad.
One of the most encouraging things to happen in 2011 was the birth of the Occupy Wall Street movement, which is giving the entire country the chance for a "born again American" moment. In calling attention to the country's widening chasm between rich and poor, the Occupiers have unleashed decades of pent-up patriotic outrage against the systematic violation of our nation's core principles by the "say good-bye to the middle class" alliance of the neocons, theocons and corporate America.
To those many millions of Americans whose guts tell them the Occupy movement is on to something but aren't the sort to camp out or protest in the street, I say find another way to let your voice be heard in the new year. Work with others who share your passion for equal opportunity and equal justice for all Americans, and find ways to channel outrage into productive action. I'm betting you'll find, as I have over my nearly four score plus 10, that you'll form some of the most rewarding relationships and have some of the most meaningful experiences of your life.
I have been lucky in many ways. I was raised by my immigrant grandfather to treasure the freedom and opportunities America offers. I also learned early to fear the power of demagogues with megaphones, as an 11-year-old listening to the anti-Semitic ravings and attacks on President Franklin D. Roosevelt from radio priest Father Coughlin, the spiritual godfather of those who poison our airwaves and online forums today. By the time I was a teenager, I knew that the values of individual and religious liberty were worth fighting for, which is why I dropped out of college to enlist in the war against Hitler.
Since then I have repeatedly seen Americans get off their couches to hold this country accountable to its stated values. They did it to fight for civil rights and the dismantling of the legal apartheid of Jim Crow; for the women's movement; for equality for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Americans. They have rallied to ensure that immigrants are treated with dignity and justice. All these efforts to overcome bigotry and institutionalized prejudice are still works in progress, but I am awed by the progress we have made.
Generations of Americans have worked to create a nation in which individual liberty can thrive alongside commitment to the principle that all members of a community should have the opportunity to pursue their dreams and build a decent life for themselves and their families. In recent decades, that dream has been betrayed.
The religious right leaders who got me engaged in politics often portray such things as free expression and equal protection for all Americans no matter their race, religion or sexual orientation as anti-Christian and un-American, as symptoms of cultural decline. I couldn't disagree more. What strikes me as un-American are the greed, deception and systematic corruption that have infected politics, business and so much of our culture in recent years. Some of those with power and privilege have worked to create a system that continually reinforces that privilege and power, leaving ever-increasing numbers of Americans without reasonable hope for the kind of life their parents worked to give them.
Many Americans are in despair, and it has left them open to demagoguery and political manipulation. Blame gays, liberals, unions, immigrants or feminists for your family's struggles, for shrinking economic opportunity, for foreclosures and disappearing wages and benefits. Blame secularists or Muslims, or both, for the sense that our values have gone haywire.
A year out from the 2012 election, I am already tired of those who use the phrase "American exceptionalism" to reassert the far-right's claim that God, the Founding Fathers and any decent freedom-loving American must share their reactionary political agenda. I embrace the idea too that our nation should be a "shining city on a hill." We are the spiritual heirs to those Americans who struggled to end slavery and segregation, to end child labor and win safe conditions and living wages for workers, to enable every American to enrich his or her community and country by finding a place and a way to flourish in the world. We must make ourselves worthy of that legacy.
Call it the American dream, the American promise or the American way. Whatever term you use, it is imperiled, and worth fighting for. It is that basic, deeply patriotic emotion that I believe is finding expression — bottom-up, small-d democratic expression — in the Occupy movement. We can, and I would say must, fully embrace both love of country and outrage at attempts to despoil it. What better cause? What better time?
Television writer and producer Norman Lear founded People for the American Way.
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