So, did I mention that I was roped into being the PTA president this year? Something about if I didn’t do it would no longer be a PTA. There might have been something else, but at that point I may or may not have been dry heaving into a paper bag. PTA president material, I am not. I much more of a grunt work force kind of girl but anyway… Part of this “job” has been getting the financial records turned over to the new treasurer, taking the old treasurer’s and president’s name off the bank account, putting mine on along with the new treasurer. Easy Peasy you say? You would think. Every other time I’ve done anything like this it’s been go in with a picture ID sign a signature card and you’re out of there. Of course every other time I’ve been on the mainland.
Let me set it up for you. I go with the former treasurer and the new treasurer to the bank. The former president had the gall to have knee surgery during turnover. Can you imagine? Her left knee was only the size of a small cantaloupe. It’s hadn’t even reached watermelon status yet. Anyway, we go in to the bank. I present my driver’s license. I fill out a paper. I then proceed to wait for an hour an a half while the bank teller hen pecked my information into the keyboard. Did I mention the new treasurer brought along her children? She asked a couple of questions, suggested we go to lunch. We politely refused an asked that she just get on with it. I signed a form, asked for the balance and thought I was done.
But no! I wasn’t home more than 20 minutes before my phone rang. They couldn’t possibly switch the names on the account until the former president, you know the one with the bum knee and the former treasurer come sign more papers. I called and relayed the information. Sometimes asking an adult to do something is sort of like asking my kids to do something. It took a call from the school principal to jar them into action. At some point, you might wonder why we didn’t just close the darn account. Frankly I ask myself that daily. So the grown ups go sign the papers.
You think we’re good now right? Oh no! Another phone call. The bank now needs a copy of the minutes showing the board change. This copy must also be signed by the school secretary. She’s the one that summers on the mainland. You can see where I’m going with this. I needed a mai tai a month ago. We get in touch with her and she agrees to mail it to my house because the former treasurer wouldn’t get it since she was moving to Utah and the former president wouldn’t get it as she was moving to Japan.
My little piece of paper arrived and like the other grown ups I put off taking it to the bank for a couple of days. I couldn’t imagine why I didn’t want to go back there. Yesterday, after a quick run and before cleaning up and preparing for a trip into Waikiki I decided to go into the bank and drop it off. I’m a glutton for punishment like that. The teller I worked with wasn’t there. I recognized a teller and I’m sure she recognized me, I handed it to her, explained the situation and prepared for a hasty retreat.
But wait! (Did you hear the cuss words in my head? I live with a sailor. I know alot of them.) These minutes don’t specifically say that the banking account would be turned over to specific people. She wouldn’t accept it. She wanted all four parties to come back to sign something AGAIN. Did I mention Japan and Utah?
All I could think about was our meetings. Parlimentary procedure isn’t exactly followed here on the island. A typical meeting goes something like this.
“Fourth grade needs bus money for a field trip.”
“I don’t know $100 should cover it.”
“Shoot!” (Hawaiian for so moved.)
“Shoot!” (Hawaiian for second.)
“That trip da kine”
I don’t know how the secretary has been translated anything. After being here a year I’m happy to say that understand exactly 3/4 of it. That’s almost exactly 50% better than it was when we got here. All that to say, I wasn’t surprised that specific mention of banking records wasn’t in the minutes. Heck, I was happy to see the board transition in there.
That’s when I looked at the teller with my best stern mama face and said, “I understand. Let me explain my situation. I came in and waited for almost two hours and was told we were okay. I then sent in the former treasurer and former president and they were told everything was okay. Then you asked for the minutes, from April that I can’t legally rewrite and you say we’re not okay. The former president is on her way to Japan to live. The former treasurer has moved to Utah. School starts in three weeks. I need to get gift cards for the teachers. I need this account turned over so you need to find out what I need to do, write it down and sign it. When I come back, I’m coming with that piece of paper and whatever else you need to meet with a bank manager or should I just close the account now?” She decided that we are actually okay. Imagine that.
There is this saying in the south. It’s probably not that politically correct, but I find it fitting. If we saw someone cut someone else off in traffic, Mom might look at me and say, “He called her everything but a white woman.” That saying doesn’t stand here in Hawaii. I’m pretty sure my teller said something about me being haole at the very least, leading up to white witch by the time I walked out. It’s all good. The teachers will get their gift cards. Maybe I can handle the president position after all.