A "Ghost" Story

Recently, a friend of mine had to visit her bank.  Coincidently, my ubiquitous bugbot happened to be sequestered unobtrusively under the branch manager's desk and transmitted this conversation to my laptop.

"May I help you?"

"Yes.  My name is Bobbie Bosocket.  My husband, Bobby, recently passed away, and I need to close out our joint accounts and open new ones in just my name."

"Sorry for your loss.  I'll be more than happy to take care of this for you.  Would you also require new credit and debit cards?"

"Oh, I guess.  I'd rather not, but you just can't do anything without them, anymore."

"I know, right?  Give me a couple of minutes to verify your credit rating and I'll be right back with you."

"No problem."

My bugbot, alas, is not equipped with video capability.  However, from the gist of the conversation it is not hard to imagine the banker's facial expressions when he returned with the credit reporting companies' information.

"I'm sorry, Ms Bosocket.  We won't be able to issue you a credit card."

"I don't understand.  Our credit scores have always been in the mid-700s.  We've never had so much as one late payment or default, no bankruptcies, no liens."

"Yes, but one of the requirements for obtaining credit is that the applicant be, well, alive."

"But my late husband is not applying for credit; I am!"

"That's the problem.  Apparently, you're dead."

"Say what?"

"All three credit reporting companies have you listed as deceased, mort, room temperature."

"Well, clearly I'm not.  I'm sitting here talking to you."

"Are you?  Are you really?  I mean, I see you and hear you, but are you you, or just an apparition, a hallucination brought on by that breakfast burrito I ate this morning?  Oh, why did I eat it?  Why did I eat it?!"

"Look.  Here's my driver's license, my social security card, my military spouse ID card, and my husband's death certificate.  I'd show you my passport if I had it with me, but I didn't know I'd be crossing into Beetlejuice territory, here."

"I'm sorry, Ms Bosocket.  My hands are tied.  I can't process your paperwork because of your, uh, status."

"I'm Bobbie, not Bobby, you myopic twit!  I'm obviously not the one who's dead!"

"Well, yeah, you say that, but the credit reporting companies say you are, and credit reporting companies are never, ever, wrong."

"Okay, Sparky, I'm outta here.  But understand--I'll get this mess straightened out, and when I do, I'll be back!  You might prove to be harder to find than Jimmy Hoffa by the time I'm done."

"Uh, Ms Bosocket, when you leave would you mind opening the door to exit instead of just materializing, or transmogrifying, or whatever through it?  We wouldn't want to alarm our other customers now, would we?"