Investment follies continue......

Just hand over your “pots,” and this will be you!

Yesterday (Tuesday, March 18, 2008) the so-called “viper” (investment advisor) visited again.
His schtick is to get us to convert our “pots” to a variable annuity which has a front-end load of about $14,000, of which he gets about $300.
The angle is guaranteed payout as long as we live, even if Armageddon occurs, and assuming the company doesn’t do a Bear-Stearns.

Two major factors are at play here:
—A) I’m married to a lady who loathes rewarding anyone for doing research she could do herself; and
—B) In the words of her Aunt Ethelyn, I always say “I don’t see any dead bodies on the curb.”
That last assertion is rather fibrous, but the point is even if the market totally collapses, it ain’t the end of the world.
Other factors are at play, namely:
—1) The old Connor Jones, in which I say: “Wait a minute! We’re talking about a HUGE sum of money here.”
Years ago I had to grandstand a real-estate salesman because he was promising the moon, while grabbing for my wallet. Nice guy, but dunna toucha the wallet.
And despite stroke impairment I stood my ground when Sunoco tried to double-charge me. (Don’t try that with The Keed. —As I said once to a fellow Messenger-employee: “That checking-account better balance.”)
—2) Linda worked with salesmen, and recognized all the elements of the pitch — they have a code.
Awfully nice guy; and believes he is suggesting the right product (“You have to believe in your product to sell it,” Linda says).
But is his perception of us kerreck?
“Suppose 10 years from now Bob buys a motorhome?”
“I ain’t buyin’ no motorhome,” I say.
“The reason we’re as loaded as we are, is we don’t spend. No Corvette, no speedboat, no motorhome.”
“Fred, I gotta stop these lawbook supplements. They’re just piling up.”
“George, you can’t do that. You need these books!”
“Um, didn’t the guy just say he had to stop the supplements?” my wife asked.
“I didn’t hear that,” the salesman said as he began unboxing the supplements and inserting them.

So what will probably happen is:
—1) Linda will look around for no-load mutual funds we can roll our “pots” into (i.e. we’re back to where we were 18 years ago; when we didn’t get “advice” from my all-superior siblings), and
—2) The investment-advisor will get sent packing.
My deferred-income fund from Transit may present a hairball; but
A variable-rate annuity is probably toast — after all, I don’t see any dead bodies on the curb.

We have been considering what to do with our retirement accounts, so we’ve brought in a financial advisor. My all-knowing brother-in-Boston implies he’s a “viper.”

“Aunt Ethelyn” is my wife’s aunt, who died at 98 a few years ago. “Connor” is my mother’s maiden name; the Connors are Irish. (Nuf said.) —“The Keed” is of course me.

The “Messenger” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over two years ago. Best job I ever had.

“Linda” is my wife of 40+ years. She once worked as an accounts-rep at her long-time employer, Lawyers Co-Operative Publishing in Rochester.

RE: “Fred, I gotta stop these lawbook supplements......” —My wife went along on a sales call.

RE: “We’re back to where we were 18 years ago......” —18 years ago we put equal amounts into two no-load mutual funds as IRAs, on our own — no advisor.

“Transit” equals Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years. Since Transit is a public employer, deferred income was a 457 (not a 401k).