Hello, You've Reached The U.S. Treasury Department

I thought I had my FEMA fumble figured out three weeks ago, but my so-called "expedited assistance" remains entangled in a sticky bureaucratic web.

Again, a recap:

1.) Hurricane Rita blows our pants off Sept. 24.
2.) Applied online for assistance Sept. 27.
3.) Received phone call from FEMA inspector Sept. 28.
4.) Welcomed FEMA inspector into my home Sept. 29.
5.) Received approval for expedited assistance Sept. 30.
6.) FEMA attempted to directly deposit money into my bank Oct. 3.
7.) Realized on Oct. 5 that I'd juxtaposed bank routing number with checking account number. I stood in long FEMA line at local mall to fix to the numbers.

Subsequently, as the days and weeks dragged on with no deposit made, I spent hours waiting in the FEMA line twice more and then even more hours on hold with the FEMA hotline.
Three weeks ago, after getting through easily on the hotline, I was told that the money was held up because FEMA had no indication that the bank rejected the deposit. I ran over to the bank, where I was horrified to learn that someone in a similar predicament had their problem turned over to the U.S. Treasury Department.
I wanted to avoid that at all costs, so following a three-way conversation between me, a bank representative and a FEMA supervisor, I felt confident the snare was untangled and a new bureaucracy, and a really big one to boot, would not be introduced into the equation. FEMA assured that the money would be deposited the next week.
It wasn't.
Nor was it deposited the week after that.
Or this week.
So yesterday, I called FEMA again, got through in 5 minutes and heard the words that I had dreaded: "Sir, your paper work has been turned over to the U.S. Treasury Department."

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I immediately envisioned my poor little application as a marble cast into the largest black hole in the galaxy.
But as a seasoned marathon runner and a wiley veteran of this whole post-Rita hassle, I woke up this morning ready to take on the Treasury Department. I got to work early, poured a big cup of coffee, logged into my computer, hit the Internet and started my telephone odyssey with what looked like the most helpful number.
I got an answering machine.
Rummaging around on the Treasury's web site, I found a number that had some connection to FEMA. The person who answered the phone told me to call another number and be sure to mention up front that I had a direct deposit issue.
So I called that number, and when I told a woman of my plight and that FEMA told me the application now was in the Treasury's hands, she had this to say: "Wow."
She told me there were three options for call transfer: the Check Reconciliation Department, the Check Reclamation Department or the Check Retrieval Department.
Wow.
She tranferred me to Reconciliation. No one home. Then she tried Reclamation, but it turned out to be the Accounts and Fees Department, which transferred me to some guy named Bob.
Bob wasn't there, but his answering machine advised callers to try another number, which brought me back to Accounts and Fees, where the women I'd talked to before said, "Can't you just call back Monday?"
No, I said. Where can I go next? Recalcitrancy? Recapitulation? Recidivism? Reciprocity? Repentance?
She recommended Reclamation, which is where I was supposed to go in the second place, and gave me a shiny new number to call.
Reclamation subsequently gave me a number to the Check Claims Branch, which said I needed "a specialist." I was given the number for the U.S. Treasury Direct Deposit Department, and hot dang if it didn't have an Austin area code.
So I called Direct Deposit, unloaded my sad story on a fellow Texan, and she quickly called up my account and informed me that "the application has been returned to FEMA."
So I came full circle, but through the Texan I got a previously unrevealed piece of information: On Oct. 3, the day the FEMA money was wired out, the bank indeed kicked it back, and there is a record of it, although FEMA told me otherwise.
The Texan said my application is now in a sea of misfit applications slowly grinding their way through FEMA's accounting department like chunks in an Arctic ice flow. It likely would take weeks before reauthorization of the expedited assistance, she said.
She wouldn't give me the number for FEMA accounting, saying they were buried in botched applications and didn't need a resourceful and persistent young man such as myself bugging them.
Nevertheless, if I can get my hands on that number, I'm going to call it. I'm not desperate to receive the money. I'm just up for the next adventure in Bronco Billy bureaucracy busting.