More Money Is Just The Beginning...

I have to share this with those of you who know that I have a tendency to be mildly sarcastic.  (did you catch that?)

I'm doing a loan for a client who went through a bankruptcy a few years ago and the underwriters asked for a copy of the bankruptcy schedules.  A fairly simple task for most law offices that have at least stepped one foot into the 21st century.  When my client gave me the contact information for the law office he used for his BK, I promptly made the call to inquire about the docs.

Much to my chagrin, Margaret was the only person at the office that I was ever able to talk to.  And Margaret, God bless her, is older than dirt.  I couldn't help but envision Sophia from The Golden Girls every time I talked to her.

My interactions with Margaret numbered exactly 4.  The first time I called she said she'd have them brought over from the archives.  (I pictured old Gotham City library, how about you?) The second time I was told that she'd have them the next day and to call back after 1:00.  I assumed she was done with her nap by then.  The third call I asked if she had the documents and after we played "now who are you?" about 4 times, she told me yes but someone would have to come down and "Xerox" them at Kinko's and bring them back to her.  When I asked if she could just fax them to me, her exact words were, 

"We're almost out of toner and the man who runs that machine isn't here today."

At that point, I wasn't about to talk her through putting the paperwork in the machine and DIALING THE PHONE NUMBER, so I trudged out in near blizzard conditions to Xerox a copy at Kinko's.

When I got to the law office (my fourth interaction), I walked back to the only lit office in the space and lightly knocked on the door.  She nearly jumped out of her chair and said, "You scared me half to death! Didn't you see the bell?"

After a very one-sided interchange of her asking for the ten dollars to pay the archive guy, me handing her a check, and her looking at the check like it was written in Mandarin, I was on my way to Kinko's for some good old fashioned Xeroxing.

The return visit was where I went from mildly amused to scared for my life and the lives of anyone who doesn't ring the bell.  Knowing how fond of the bell she was, I rang it once and leaned against the counter for the next three minutes.  After a couple of forced coughs, she emerged from her office and asked me, "Did you ring the bell, I didn't even hear it!"  My response was, "Perhaps a sign that says please sound the foghorn might work better."  I thought it was funnier than she did.

"You know people will just come in off the street and start shooting?  It happened just the other day, I saw it on the news.  They're mad at the man and come in here and don't care who they shoot.  But I got ammunition back there if they do."

She's got a loaded gun, but no copier.  Fear Margaret, and for God's sake, ring the bell.