Eighteen Large

So, I'm in the market for a minivan. 'bout time, E's stuck at home and frankly - we need a vehicle that can haul cargo. I noncommittally browse the local web listings, and start organizing the funds.

Thinking myself clever, I'd shoveled the family cash into an ING direct account. Better interest, I figure - and I'd thought it would be awhile before I actually found a car. ING orange accounts are basically money market funds linked to your bank accounts. Any time you want to move money to and fro your linked accounts, you log onto their website and, presto! Handy. And they have good UI.

A week after I do this, I find the perfect van. Miracles of miracles - it's in good shape, has low miles and the price is right.

Since all my cash is being authenticated in cyber land right now, my ING transfer is looking like a bit of a bummer. ING requires that funds in a new account sit for ten business days before they become available. Since I'd started the account on a Friday - this meant that I'd have three weekends (plus a holiday) before I'd be able to pull the cash out.

The net delay to my car transaction will be at least one week. I tell the seller this, and he's okay with it. I needed to get his car inspected anyway, so that ate up a day and there was Christmas right smack in the middle - so no biggie.

Dec 26 should be the first day I can pull the money. ING says it should post in two days, they assure me that I will be able to withdraw the money on the day it posts. "It's like a cash deposit, or a cashier's check."

'kay. So, 12:01am on Dec 26 - I log on and (whaddaya know?) I can move my money.

The next day, I see the funds disappear out of ING. The day after that, they show up in my checking account.

'kay. The buy is on. I talk to the seller. He wants to have all the money available to him on the day of the purchase. He wants a wire transfer.

Now, wire transfers are well and good, but they typically cost more money and they are not (in my experience) instant. I tell him this, but he's pretty convinced. I offer to talk to my bank and see what's up.

My bank tells me that wire transfers will cost us about $40, and that a cashier's check is free. Further, the bank guy says "Heck, if your seller's bank is local, you can run the cashier's check over to his bank and he'll be able to draw on that deposit the same day. A wire transfer just doesn't make sense if the receiving bank is local."

'kay. I tell the seller this, and he's happy to avoid fees. We agree to meet at his bank, I'll have the cashier's check, he'll have the title, and all will be well. Time permitting - I might even be able to squeeze in time to hit the DMV to get my tags so we can road trip this weekend.

---

Game time. I roll into the bank, hand him the check and he goes up to the teller. I sit down to kill time on some magazines - and it becomes clear that things are not well.

Seller motions me over. "They won't allow me access to the funds for several days."

I look at the teller. "It's a cashier's check. These are guaranteed funds."

She's unimpressed "You could have stopped payment on this check; we need time to make sure it's still a valid check."

Okay, I'm ticked. I tell her what my bank guy said, she just rolls her eyes. Seller's getting nervous, he either REALLY needs the dough today, or he's thinking this is all part of some master plan to rip him off.

I do the back and forth for awhile, but it's pretty clear I'm going to lose this one. We ask if there is a way I can pay the Seller so he can draw the money today.

Teller thinks a moment. "Cash?"

Screw that, I'm not driving across town will all my money in a sack. Somehow, my expression conveys this to her.

"A wire transfer would be same day."

"There's no delay to authenticate? He'll be able to get access to the money today?"

"Yep."

'kay. Seller and I pile into my car, I apologize for the mix up - and we tool into my bank fifteen minutes later.

I'm up to here with this, trying not to look like a dork in front of the Seller.

Hi. Void my cashier's check. Wire some money to this man.

My bank is nicer. My teller explains that most banks will take a cashier's check and allow withdrawals on it the same day, but the Seller's bank is an exception. She used to work there. So, each bank has its own rules. Nice to know. Now.

We're in the middle of doing the transfer when my teller thinks to verify that these funds will hit today and be available today. Three phone calls and much bank-speak later, it's clear that the wire transfer isn't a sure thing either.

"It could post today, it could post tomorrow - it depends on the bank."

Seller's really agitated now. I'm not willing to trust Seller's bank to take the funds same day. One option left.

"Give us cash."

The bank manager says it's going to take some time, they need to open the vault - we need to fill out some forms. My bank being nice, they give us coffee. An Account Rep tells us to meet us in her office, where she has eighteen stacks of Benjamins.

I'm looking at my watch. I'd planned on hitting the DMV or at least going back to work. How long is this going to take?

She counts out all the bills. Twice.

Then there's the "The Feds have to be told that you took more than ten grand out in cash" form - that seems to take an interminable amount of time.

Finally, it's done. The Account Rep leaves and I'm sitting there with the Seller. And this is the scenario I was trying to avoid.

Mind you, not because I truly believe that brigands roam the roads looking for people with large amounts of cash on them - but in exchanges of this type - people are typically agitated. The imagination is looking out for things that could cost you your money, or your property. You start looking for ways to stay out of trouble.

When you have a fat wad of bills in your lap, right after the teller has announced how much money you wanted and that you need it in CASH, you start to see trouble everywhere.

We go straight to the car. I'm picturing the Seller as some master scammer, who's going to use a stun gun on me and hop into a waiting van. He's checking behind us for masked gunmen.

Predictably, we get to his bank with no harm done. His teller seems exasperated that she has to count the bills, and I'm like- "Don't. Even."

Money in, Seller asks me to sign a receipt for him (which makes no sense) and wants a photocopy of the title (for whatever reason). He's nervous, and probably would ask the tellers for affidavits, if he thought they'd comply.

I check the title and I have what I need. He gives me the keys and I agree to drop him off at the rental car place. On the way he's decompressing. Chatting me up about this and that. He's a nice guy. Just having that much moolah up in the air got us both in a twist.

The fact that it took two banks over an hour to decide the fastest way to get my money across town was in a paper bag starts to bother me less and less.

I got to see bank people get nervous. I got to be irrationally nervous myself, and I got to fan a huge wad of Benjamins in my hands.

Plus, I got a minivan. I guess that's not too bad of a day.

What the hell are 'Deathly Hallows?'

Beats me, but J.K. Rowling is apparently going to tell us.

Spoiler alert: the article discusses a big aspect of box 6. A retroactive sorry.

Embarrassment of riches

Been awhile since I've come up for air – between trying to stay above water at work, doing the same at home, and just being unconscious - there hasn't been a lot of time for much else.

Putting together a decent meal is a time crunch most days – I doubt we’ve managed it on our own since baby E showed up. First, my mom was in town and she helped us out. Then we were on leftovers.

Then we were out of leftovers, and we’re dreading what we have in the cupboard – and trips to the grocery store have turned into quite the logistical feat.

So, I’m coming out of the garage, and who is coming up my driveway buy Ms. No-H, and she’s carrying pizza. Lots of pizza.

And not your schlock pizza, either – but the yummy kind. I’m way sick, so I munch and flop down somewhere outta the way, while E socializes.

It’s a great night. Some days, crossing off a seemingly simple thing like dinner is just the best thing in the world. So, thanks, Ms. No-H. Perfect timing. What a marvelous thing to do.

---

Rewind to the day after baby E is born.

A friend of ours, KB, asks if we like lasagna. “I’d make you some if you do.”

In my head, this triggers a brief, internal Q & A session:

Do I like lasagna?

I think so.

You think?

Okay, I’ll check its ranking…Got it! It was in the “Love more than life itself” folder, right next to sauerkraut pizza.

Y'know, I should eat more lasagna...

Damn right.

So, I say, “Um, yes.” and forget all about the discussion.

A few days later, I’m getting lunch at an Italian deli when-

Hey! I should eat more lasagna.

So, I go to the freezer and buy a massive pan of ready-to-bake lasagna. A pan I need to set down because my arm starts hurting while I’m getting out my cash at the register.

Fast forward to that night. Zagne’s in the fridge, cued up for tomorrow and then KB calls to tell us she’s coming over with lasagna tomorrow.

Hey! I should eat more lasagna.

Sure, we’re game – the deli 'zagne goes in the freezer, and we get ready for homemade Italian goodness.

Poof. It’s tomorrow night, and KB and family drop off the yummy. We bake, we scarf, we scarf some more.

That part of my brain that had been nagging me is now gloating:

Ya see, I told you…

Despite our best efforts, there’s half a pan left – which we’ll kill off tomorrow.

Next day, our neighbor, MG comes over with bread, salad and – lasagna!

Hey! I should eat more lasagna.

So, we’ve got two in the fridge, one in the freezer – that part of me that has been craving zagne will finally be sated.

---

And then, next day-

Mr. and Ms. U send us a box of cookies – and not your ho-hum sugar cookies with sprinkles, but exotic cookies you see on the food channel. The kind where every ingredient doesn’t have a brand name in front of it.

Bags and bags of them – and they are yummy. And I vacillate between hiding the box for myself, and setting them out for the family. As a compromise measure – I eat all the chocolate chip cookies.

Yum

---

Which brings us to yesterday.

I walk in and there in the middle of the floor is a large box with Styrofoam lining and plastic pouring out of it.

E’s sitting on the couch, big smile on her face. “G and T sent us some sausage.”

I look at the box. It dwarfs her statement. “Some…?”

“That’s just the box I left out so you could see it. The other one was just as big.”

My mind performs some rapid calculations. “Is there room in the fridge?”

“Not really, but we’ve got plenty to eat!”

---

So, thanks to everyone for everything – our cholesterol count is sure to spike this month – but it’s the holidays and it was headed that way anyway. The stuff we’ve munched already was way yummy – and the stuff we’ve got in the queue looks at least as good.

You people are great.