Bureaucracy

My mother passed away in 2003. My father had died in 1994, so my mother's passing left an empty house in another city, the city where I grew up. I was living in Roanoke, Virginia, at the time of her passing. I was living in an apartment then, so it was easy for me to move into the empty house. I had to settle her estate, make repairs on and perhaps sell the house, and I couldn't do it remotely.

My mother had a safe deposit box at a local bank. One day I received a certified letter from the bank. I had already gone to the bank and told them she was deceased. But I didn't have the key to the safe deposit box, and they said they would need a court order to open it, and they'd have to call a locksmith and drill the lock out, and I'd have to pay $150 to have that done, etc. etc... It was a whole big deal. I thought "screw that" and I left. 

But they kept sending bills for the box rental. One day they sent the bill certified, and I could tell they were becoming impatient, with phrases like "you are severely behind" and "we will have to call a locksmith and there will be a $150 charge"... etc. 

So I took the bill to the bank, and I walked up to the front desk and said, "The bank keeps sending these bills addressed to my mother, and I came here last summer and told you she was deceased, and it is now 12 months later and she is still deceased, and I don't expect her condition to improve, but apparently the bank does, because you keep sending these bills." 

At first the teller girl said there was nothing she could do, then I took out some safe deposit box keys I had found at the house, and I said "maybe one of these will open it". She took the keys and, as we were walking to the vault, our conversation went like this:

Bank chick: "Who is the executor?"
Me: "There isn't one."
Bank chick: "Who is the administrator?"
Me: "There isn't one."
Bank chick: "What did your mother's will say?"
Me: "She didn't have a will."
Bank chick: "How are you handling everything then?"
Me: "I got a small estate affidavit and everything is taken care of except this."
Bank chick: "This could be a problem."
Me: "Not for me. Might be for you, though."
Bank chick: "Yeah."

We went into the vault, she put in her key, and tried one of my keys. The first one fit and she opened the door and removed the box and emptied it. There was nothing of value in it—just some old CDs.

I said, "I thought you had to have a court order to open that up," and she said, "I'm supposed to." Suddenly I understood. It's only a big deal when it's my problem. When it's their problem, that's different. Then, no big deal, we'll open it up right now and take care of everything. I thought it was really very funny. But of course, I kept a straight face as I left the bank. I didn't know it, but I was only at the beginning of a long battle with several financial bureaucracies. Oh, I could have written a book about it, and I should have. I would have titled it, "A Guidebook for Settling an Estate," or something similar. But I didn't. I had too much time-killing work ahead of me, and I'm only one person.