Pay Attention to Detail, and Don't be an Yerkface!!

I have been living in Chile for a year now... well, living for real- with a real person job, with a real apartment, real bf, etc. and just now am opening a bank account. For all my fellow gringos who are like, "oh my gawddd, you are so lazy blehblehbleh," let me tell you: things here AREN'T that easy. It's not like in the states when you can walk into any old bank, at any old time, and create an account. Nooo, no, no, no. You must be a real person. The first, and supremely most important thing one must do to become a real person in Chile is to get what is called a RUT. This is your number. You are a number. It's not really like a social security number that you only use on special occasions like, um, dying, or giving birth, its a number you utilize for EVERYTHING. Park your car, give your RUT. Sign for a package, give your RUT. Swap spit, give your RUT. It is, indeed, that ubiquitous. So- after about 8 months of making up a random number, and/or being honest and saying, "no lo tengo, soy extranjera" I manned up and got one (actually, my amigos in HR did everything for me... I just signed some papers... thanks guys!!).

Well, really the whole point of this story to explain the puta process of obtaining a bank account here at the end of the world. Ok so I'm officially armed with the three things I desperately need: my RUTizzle, work contract, and "liquidaciones de sueldo" (pay stubs?¿). I happen to be missing the equally essential "carné" (Chilean ID), but they let me slide cuz they have a "convenio" with my work and so they know I'm not some green-back-gringa opening a Chilean account to thwart the nation and take over the país. And Jesus, they have my passport, drivers license, and basically a blood/urine sample-- if they doubt my identity, CHUPALA wns de mierda!!

As it turns out, I get it all sorted out and apply for my first little Chilean bank accountie. Adorable. I'm so stoked because now I can stop hiding cash in my bra/hat drawer. Psyche, like I have any cash after Christmas... nice try. So my agente calls me on Monday to notify my that, all the documents passed their rigorous inspection (I filled out more papers than if I were singing a will and my life over to them foreverrr) and that my productos (credit/debit cards and checks- pff who uses checks??) were ready to be picked up. Like the excited little gringüita I was, I hopped, skipped, and jumped downstairs, walked the 10 feet from my work and into the bank. Sit down at Yerko's desk (not making that name up..) and start signing another cascade of papers about dying, overdrawing, what "credit" is, etc. and I'm about 3/4 the way through and I notice that on one of the papers my last name is spelled wrong. Nothing unusual. You'd be seriously stunned/impressed at the number of ways people have come up with to spell my name. It's quite, eh, creative. So I say:

Me: Ahem, my last name is spelled wrong on this paper.
Yerkface: Whaaaat?
Me: Yeah, you put an N instead of a U.
Yerkface: Ohhh noooo, that means it's spelled wrong on everything...

Sure enough, on the credit cards, cheques, and every other document that I myself didn't write my name... it was spelled wrong. MOTHERF/&#%¿. His excuses:

Yerkface: Eh, uh, durr, well you guys at your work make mistakes too....
Yerkface: Eh, uh, durr, well your handwriting makes the U look like an N...

Number one: How, HOW, could you have spelled it wrong?!?!??? YOU HAVE EVERY DOCUMENT THAT MAKES ME A HUMAN BEING!!! If you have an f-ing DOUBT about it... DOUBLEfrakkingCHECK asshole!!! Number two: What an ASS!!! I.) you have absolutely no proof that we have ever made a mistake, as, in fact, we are quite awesome, II.) LAMEST EXCUSE EVER CREATED. Man up to being an INEFFICIENT, NON-detail-oriented, MORON of a YERKFACE!!! I almost punched this fool right in the schnoz. Give you a shiner to decorate your dumb giant forehead.

Now, okay, I'm "sorry" to be mean about Yerkface and his oversized cabeza, but the majority of my bad luck in Chile (which is quite ample, let me tell you) is caused by other people frakking s#¡t up. Yes, I make my own slew of dumb decisions, but 99% of the time they only affect me... and maybe LL because when dumb/preventable/annoying things happen to me, I tend to talk about it... more than necessary. Sry.

It's just NOT really that hard to do your job right and to pay attention. At least to important things.

Morals of the story niños y niñas:
1) Pay attention to the s#¡t you do.
2) Avoid doing dumb s#¡t in the first place.
3) If you cock up, for christsake, man up to that s#¡t.
4) Us and Ns looks alike... dumbs#¡t.