THE BANK TELLER

Hey there sagacious reader.  I want to tell you about something that happened a while back that I can actually still remember to this day (amazing!). An event as bewildering as it was ridiculous.  I mean does this stuff really happen?  Apparently so.  Ah, the mysteries of life.  Those little moments that leave us wondering, what's next? 

I was working at a motorcycle shop and part of my job was dealing with the bank.  I went there on a daily basis to make deposits and get the necessary 'change' for the shop.  My boss liked to keep a cash box in the office with small bills and coins.  This money was used to 'make change' for the parts counter.  I typically got ones, fives, tens and sometimes quarters, nickels, dimes, etc. (ho hum, I know.) So, enough of the background. 

This particular day started the same as every other.  I gathered my deposit material, checked to see what 'change' I needed and headed to the bank.  I usually went around midmorning cuz by then I was more than ready to get out of the office for a bit.  (My boss was a hair 'anal' and any chance I had to escape was eagerly embraced.) Anyway, I got to the bank, waited my turn in line (I had way more patience in those days) and took care of business.  I then headed back to the shop.  A typical bank trip.  Or so I thought.

When I got to my office, I pulled out the cash box and prepared to put the money I had gotten from the bank into the proper slots in the box.  This required concentration and attention to detail. (yeah, right)  I mean Heaven forbid, an errant penny should be found in the dime bin.  Yikes!  A total catastrophe! (that anal boss thing again)  All went smoothly until I got to the ones. These we had bundled in packs of twenty for our convenience which the bank obliged us by doing.  However this time the bank made a boo-boo.  Or rather the bank teller made a boo=boo.  

I didn't notice anything amiss immediately but knew something wasn't quite right.  Then it hit me.  Oops.  The teller had accidentally given me twenty twenties instead of twenty ones.  Now I will admit that I considered for a moment or two (ok, ok, maybe three) to keep quiet.  I mean who doesn't like a $380 tip?  (Can you sing, "I'm in the money"?)  But no, my mama raised me right.  I went to the boss and told him what happened and took myself and the money straight back to the bank.  Upon arrival I waited for the same teller to become available which did get me more than a few curious looks from the other people there. Can't say as I blame them. After all, who waits around in line, letting other people go before them? 

Finally it's my turn with my teller.  I approach. She gives me a 'funny' look. I think she recognized me from less than an hour or so before.  Good memory, hm? So I explain what happened and that I am there to return the twenties and get my ones.  Well, she is having none of that!  She tells me that she will have to close down her window and reconcile her cash drawer to settle the matter. Really?

So, I'm left standing there, waiting for her to do her thing, and all the while she's casting snarky looks my way as if I'd done something wrong; as if I'd robbed the bank, or swindled them somehow.  Again, really?  How many people do you suppose go into a bank and try to force money on them? I'm sure it happens all the time, right?  (No, no Mr. Bank Manager, you got it all wrong. I'm not here to rob you, I'm here to give you money.) 

It's not that I minded being out of the office and away from my workload, far from it. But I did mind being treated like something she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoe. After all, I was doing the right thing here and felt totally unappreciated for it. 

Of course, I knew her drawer was going to come up short.  And sure enough it did. So I wasn't trying to force money on the bank after all. Imagine that! At this point part of me wished I'd just kept the money.  I mean, jeez, what an ingrate!  Once she realized her mistake, she actually stopped glowering at me and even issued a reluctant thank you. I think it only hurt her a little and there may have been the glimmer of a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth but I'm not sure.  She was that type of teller.  She did, however, give me my twenty ones and I was released from the bank.

So in closing, I would like to extend my appreciation to the bank teller who made me feel like some kind of criminal and doubted my integrity, by issuing a very personal BITE ME!