This morning I roll over my
superannuation. Nearly two months after the free financial consultation granted
me by HealthSuper on turning 60, I consolidate my super. I pay exorbitant fees
on my largest fund, OnePath. It will attract a management fee about a quarter the
amount in HealthSuper. It’s simple: just fill in the form and post it. The
reality is something else.
I extract the latest statements
from my three super funds from the filing cabinet. I fire up the interweb and
Skype on the laptop—my desktop has no camera or mike—and call OnePath in Sydney,
but dial the fax number by mistake. At the second attempt a disembodied voice guides
me through six menus until I reach a disinterested human three minutes later.
Fifteen seconds is all it takes for
my question and her answer: No, there is no exit fee. I slide the chair across
to the desktop and summon up the HealthSuper website. My login fails and fails
again. At the third stroke I’m allowed in. I click the Forms tab and scroll up
and down, open several documents that aren’t what I’m after, until I find the
rollover form. I copy it to my desktop and hit Print.
I sit in the comfy chair with a
cuppa and the rollover form, carefully placing block letters in the boxes. They
want the From fund’s ABN and other obscurities. I must photocopy my passport
and have an authorised person verify that they viewed the original and it
matches the copy I made.
My cup runneth over: my good
woman is a registered psychologist and may sign the verification. So too may someone
who has worked at the post office continuously for five years, a charlatan
chiropractor or a trade marks attorney. Actresses, civil engineers and
personal trainers are unworthy. I address and stamp an envelope and it’s time
for lunch.
No wonder days blur.
Rock on.
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