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Great Neck Notebook


I recently financed my mortgage, reducing my interest rate to a mere 3 percent. To finalize the arrangement, the bank sent a lady to my house with a stack of papers for me to sign. When I say stack, I mean more than a hundred sheets. I felt bad for all the trees that had been cut down to make this quantity of paper.


Each sheet had my name typed on it, but sometimes it was with my middle initial and sometimes without. I had to be really careful to sign exactly the way it was typed. If I messed up, the whole page would have to be replaced. As I signed each page, the bank lady notarized each one.


It took more than an hour for all this signing and the fingers on my right hand were starting to cramp up. Finally it was done. The lady rechecked each page to make sure each of my signatures matched what was typed. Eureka! I had done it right!


She was so delighted that she didn’t have to redo any of the pages that she exclaimed, “David, you’re a wonderful person.”  Never one to miss an opportunity, I replied, “Would you be willing to sign a statement to that effect?”

When she answered yes, I raced upstairs to my computer, and typed, “David H. Golbert is a wonderful person.”  I included a line for her signature and the date. I quickly brought the document downstairs to where she was waiting, hoping she hadn’t changed her mind about my character. She signed and dated it, and then to make sure it was “official” she notarized it.

I was pleased the mortgage process was over and I had a new, low interest rate.  I was also pleased that I had certified (and notarized) proof that I’m as nice as my mother always thought I was.

When the bank lady left, I took the document and left it on Gail’s (my better half) pillow. All my friends and neighbors will be pleased to know that it’s now framed and hanging in a place of honor in the downstairs bathroom—above the toilet.