Idiocy

Ramping up for my parent's move out of Merrill Gardens points out (again) just how difficult it is to change one's address. I remember when moving from one place to another involved a few phone calls, a few change of address cards but it was quick, easy, and over. Of course, I haven't moved since 1991. But, I have been involved with Mom and Dad moving; first from their home to MG eighteen months ago and now enmeshed in planning another move in two weeks.

The last time they moved, it was a full six months before all the addresses were changed on bank accounts, investment accounts, credit cards, Medicare/Aetna/Medco accounts and the like. We were so caught up in the physical moving that the details like change of address got lost in the packing, unpacking and transitioning into a new life.

This time I decided to start early. Magazines are easy; no one really cares and on-line address changes are just fine for subscriptions although you must have those annoying little, flaky strips off the magazine to identify your account number or the name "exactly as it appears" on the account. Newspapers are a little harder. The worst nightmare comes with financial institutions, the government, phone service, or healthcare. As Mom and Dad are incapable of navigating through the morass of phone trees, operators who speak quickly, garble their words and use terms even I don't understand, the family must step in and make the calls for them.

Today I was on the phone with Verizon to set up phone service. Oy. I have to identify myself as "Doris" otherwise I will get nowhere. The problem is, I refuse to change my voice and when they ask for date of birth, they KNOW that I am not Doris. The Verizon guy caught me in the act this morning when I spouted out 1917, he put 2 and 2 together (duh) and then asked me:

"Are you Doris?" I could have lied but I had to confess.
"No, I am not Doris but Doris can't do this; she is 90 years old, I am her daughter and please, pretty please, give me a break".
"Is Doris with you? You could put her on the line to verify that it is OK for you to handle her order."
"No, I'm not with her."
"Are you power of attorney?", he inquires.
"Oh, yes". Now we are getting somewhere; he's going to "get it". Not.
"Well, you'll need to fax me that document...." (I cut him off at that point)
"Oh, shit", I say, "why can't you guys cut me the tiniest bit of slack. Doris cannot handle this; I'm just trying to set up her new phone service at the retirement community. I'm doing a good deed as a devoted daughter."
"I recognize that Ma'am but we have to look out for fraud."
"Yeah, I guess you caught me; she's 90, I'm 53. I guess I don't sound like I'm 90."
He laughs (thank God for humor) remarking, "Nope, you're not a 1917 baby."
Asswipe, I think.
"Here, let me give you the direct line for you to use when you call again from Doris's current residence to set up the phone service. I can help you directly".

The phone number is long distance and I'll have to pay for the pleasure. Do you have any idea how long it takes them to arrange a phone line? Ridiculous.

Note to self: cultivate a wavery, confused, old-lady voice. Gotta have it in addition to the SSN, mother's maiden name, date of birth, and the last time you took a crap (they want all this information, I promise you).