By the time I got to work this morning, I felt as though I had been through a meat grinder. You know that old jump-rope jingle about “doctor, lawyer, Indian chief?” When I was a kid, I always dreamed of being an Indian chief. Lawyer? Not so much. Along with teacher, nurse, and telephone solicitor. So the business of wading through wills and trusts and other pieces of estate paperwork is a slog for me. I mean, I get [sorta] the overall picture but I lack the vocabulary to talk about this stuff with any fluency. Obtuse language anyone?

The worst of it is when I have to go somewhere and ask some unknown (to me) professional to do something for me. What if there’s something wrong with my paperwork? What if I don’t have one (or two or three) of the documents that I need. Like today when I needed to get some stuff done at the bank. When I don’t know [exactly] what I’m doing, I go [sorta] into Dumb Blonde Mode. I state right up front that I don’t really know what I’m doing, even though I know enough about it to know what I want to accomplish. I giggle and laugh and even make small talk. Yes, really. A *bit* of small talk. I hate when small talk derails business conversations.

This morning, I had to go to the bank. Again. When “Dolores”, the teller who used to count my ugly middle school “fun night” deposits, enthusiastically greeted me, I was encouraged. But I knew that she wouldn’t be able to help me with today’s business. She ushered me over to “Brandon’s” desk uttering condolences about mom along the way. I would be in good hands with Brandon, she said.

And I was in good hands because “Brandon” definitely knew his job. But. This guy was the stereotypical CPA-type person. He seemed incapable of cracking even the slightest bit of a smile. Was it because the sun was in his eyes (it was but…). Did he have a migraine? Hmmm… He asked me a question with a term that I only vaguely knew. “Yes!”, I said. “I think…”, I said. He started to look through the ratty old 25-page document I had produced. He couldn’t find evidence. I started panicking. I knew it was in there. I have seen it a billion times. Where? After five loooonnnng minutes with him silently reading my document and me making random dumb-blonde noises… Finally. “Brandon” found what he was looking for on page 17. Whew! Page 17? Who knew?

We said our goodbyes and, as I walked out, baggy old bag that I am, I fell back into middle-school mode just for a few moments, fantasizing that this young turk would be watching me sashay out to my loverly little black Ninja vee-hickle in my black outfit and my fancy new bizcaz-able red suede hiking sandals and maybe think that I was actually not a complete idiot after all! Of course that would be the the vee-hickle that Red-wing Blackbirds routinely attack and seagulls have been known to nap on for hours. Can you say Bird Poop City? Not a cool vee-hickle. Hopefully the next time I have to go to the dern bank for special services, I’ll get “Amanda” or “Monique”.

P.S. “Brandon” did actually show an interest in me as an actual person when we got around to talking about online banking and I mentioned that I worked in that industry. He even cracked a small smile. Did my company provide services to his employer? I think so but I don’t officially know and even if I did, I am not in a position to say affirmatively yes or no.

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