A Silly Story About Handwriting

I used to have recurring dreams.  Not the exact same dream, but the theme was identical.  I dreamt about tornadoes.  Always in the den in the home of my late grandparents, in my dreams I would look out across the fields of corn and watch tornadoes dance towards me.  Some were pastel pink, blue, and mint green.  Once I stood in one looking up at the wind around me.  Never scared, I loved these dreams.  I was in awe (I still am) of their power and grace.  These tornadoes did not destroy.

A suggestion I analyze my dreams led me to a bookstore where I combed through dream dictionaries trying to find meaning.  All the books offered the same explanation:  trauma in my life, crises, extreme emotions, impending disasters.

Please.  Dreaming about tornadoes was a gift.  I felt no tension, upcoming temper tantrum, or doom and gloom on the horizon.  Quite the contrary.  I loved waking up after seeing tornadoes in my sleep.  I felt calm.  Happy.  In my dreams, tornadoes were good.

Which is why I stopped reading silly dream dictionaries.  I didn't agree.  They were wrong.  My dreams.  My rules.

Reading somewhere recently that handwriting filled with loops indicated sociopathic tendencies, I was reminded of these dream dictionaries.  Allow me to share a story.

Because banks in Japan are generally rigid with rules I don't always understand, I opened an account with a branch of a US-based bank.  Here my signature was enough to open an account whereas Japanese banks require a registered stamp.  I have one of these stamps but I don't always know where it is, making it more of a challenge to go to the counter and beg for mercy to access my account without the proper proof of who I am.  (The stamp proves I'm me.  Not my ID.  Don't ask.)

I recently went back to the branch office of this US-based bank to change my address.  I showed proof of who I am and signed on the dotted line.  I handed the paper back to the teller who looks at it, then at the computer screen, then back to me.

"Your signatures don't match," he says.
"What signatures?" I ask because this doesn't make sense.
"Your signature here," and he points to where I just signed, "and here," now pointing to the computer screen.
I'm tempted to ask, "So?  You know it's me," but I don't.  Here's why.

I am one of these people whose signature changes with my mood.  Some days my writing is illegible.  Other days I have big loops for the "y" in my name.  Still other days the "a" and "m" are angular.  Today it's a combination of the above.  The point is, the my signature today does not look like the one I offered when I opened the account.  My mood today?  Okay.  I'm in a hurry.  I'm hungry.  Not cranky.  Generally good.  This leads to a slightly illegible, loopy "y" and pointy "a" and "m".  So then, what was my mood when I opened the account?  How the hell am I supposed to remember this?

Evidently, this hand-writing-changing-with-moods thing is not all that common.  All around me are people whose signature has remained the same for years:  my parents, husband, son.  I'm baffled by this.  They're baffled by me.

I think through all this as I contemplate what to say to the man in front of me.  I finally decide on what seems to me the simplest answer.

"May I see my original signature?"
"Ah, sorry.  No."
I laughed.
I did.
He didn't.
Fine.

"Okay.  Let me try again."  I take a piece of paper from the small tablet in front of me and sign it not all that differently.
"Here.  Try this."
He takes the sheet, looks at it, glances up at the screen, and handing it back to me, says, "Sorry.  No."

You've got to be kidding me.
"Okay.  Fine."
I completely change my signature to the one I use when I'm annoyed and hand that to him.
"Closer," he says.
I am not amused.
"What's different?" I ask.  "And, why can't I see my signature on your screen?  You've seen my photo ID.  You know I am who I say I am."
"Yes, I'm sorry.  But, we need your signatures to match."
Of course.

I sit back.  Here is the first time my changing-by-my-moods handwriting has gotten me in trouble.  Don't other people have this problem?  Why doesn't my husband's handwriting ever change?  And, what about this "loopy handwriting indicates sociopathic tendencies" article I just read?  Am I weird?  I really don't remember how I signed my name over a year ago, much less the mood I was in on that day.  I'm actually stumped.

I lean in to the counter.
"Look," I say.  "I don't remember how I signed my name a year ago.  I don't know what to do."
The man in front of me sighs, exasperated by this foreign woman whose handwriting doesn't match.
"Try again," he says, handing me another slip of paper.  I am close to yanking it out of his hand but don't.  I slowly sign my three names, a deliberate attempt to let my handwriting express my complete and utter annoyance.  He doesn't get it, of course.

I slide it across the table and sit back again, crossing my arms across my chest in defiance.  This is a challenge.  He takes a pen out of his drawer and circles two names from the first sheet and one from the second.
"This combination," he says.  "Copy these two from this paper and this one from the other."

Not feeling cooperative anymore, I take out my phone and snap photos of the two sheets with circled names.  I now have a record of how I must sign my name at this bank.  How I wish they would just let me use my stamp.

Signing again, looking at each circle and copying carefully I am done.  I pass.  Joy.

Annoyed with the bank, I leave with the thought it's that article that really nags at me.  There is no way loopy handwriting means I'm a sociopath.  I refuse to believe this article which surely was written by the same person who wrote that dream dictionary.  Careful what you read, people.  It might just ruin your mood, and we all know where that leads.

Signed,

Amya