Ask Dad

If you've ever seen the movie, "It's a Wonderful Life," you remember that part where boyhood George Bailey is in a predicament, knowing his drunk boss has just asked him to deliver a wrong prescription to a sick woman. He's on the street in Bedford Falls, wondering what to do, when he looks up and sees an advertisement billboard exclaiming, "Ask Dad; he'll know!"
I feel like that's been the recurring theme as I phone-wrestle my bank lender, then my school, then my bank lender again, to get my hands on some loans I've been "approved for" for the past three months!

A few weeks ago, I personally visited my esteemed Director of Financial Assistance, who took my file out from the middle of a huge stack, keyed a few codes into his computer, and told me he'd send it down to "Keith," who would communicate with my bank. But we can't give you as much as you asked for. The most we can allow you to borrow is "x."
"O.k.," I say, remaining optimistic, "I think I can live on 'x.' I might be getting a job."
He responds sagely, "Can your parents help you out at all?"

Last week, I call the Student Accounts Office. I end up asking the poor woman there how I'm supposed to pay my bills until that point in time when "all the loans have arrived and the student account shows a zero balance, and then the extra can be refunded to the student."
Her reply: "Can you ask your parents for a short-time loan?"

Today, I go into the bank and talk to one of the tellers. She tells me I cannot cash the money order sent by my Dad, because I don't have that money in my account. I explain that I still don't have access to funds from my student loans, and meanwhile there are bills that have been mailed out with checks to pay them, and so soon there will be less than no funds in my checking account! So I ask, "Worse case scenario, what happens? What kind of fees am I looking at if my loans aren't in when those people ask for payment on those checks?"
"You shouldn't do that," she told me.

well, no s--t, Sherlock.

So I speak to the branch manager of my bank. Nice fellow, reminds me of my Uncle Frank.
"You know what? I don't know you," he says, "but I'm gonna take a chance on you. I'll cash this money order for you. Meanwhile, if there turns out to be overdraft on your account, take care of it within at least 15 business days, ok, sweetie?"
"Thank you so much," I say, as I clutch the rent money to my chest.

The bank manager's parting words?
yep: "And call your Dad--maybe he can send you some money to cover it for now."

What do these people think my dad does for a living?

I caved. I asked Dad.

Thanks, God, for giving me such wonderful parents.
And thanks, Dad.