Bad Checks and Lollipops

                       My Accountant, My Personal Trainer, My Barista - My Teller

First thing on the to-do list today is go to the bank - deposit a check.

Inside the bank five people are waiting in a ski-lift-like line. I slide in at the end. There are two tellers, a woman helping a customer and a man helping at the drive-up window.

Finally my turn. The man from the drive-up window is back. He is holding papers from the drive-up customer which he sets aside. He looks up, at me. “May I help you?” he says. I take a small step forward and hand him a deposit slip and a signed check.

You may be wondering, "Isn't the drive-up customer waiting?" OK, a moment here to explain something about banks?

                     The Two Things at Once Rule

The very fact that the drive-up customer does not have a live video of the goings on inside allows the bank to implement the famous “do two things at once” rule - applied as follows: Teller takes the drive-up papers, checks, deposit/withdrawal slips etc. then disappears from the drive-up window. The customer is happy. He thinks he’s being cared for. He’s humming an old melody, as he looks for things to do while waiting.  Ooops, spills some coffee reaching in the back for baby’s pacifier. OK got it. Now preening in the rear-view mirror. Still humming. Meanwhile the teller is working with the customer at the counter.
No harm done. The customer in the car thinks he is being cared for.
Back outside, the driver has just separated a rib cartilage reaching back for a CD of old love songs that had slid between the back seats. He now has other concerns, but not to worry, he knows he’s being taken care of. It’s the poor devils behind him that are saying, “Seriously – What could be taking this guy so long?” 
When they move up, all will be forgiven.  
That’s essentially the reasoning behind the “Two things …” rule. 

                 That's a Neat Machine

Back to my teller - he runs my check through an automatic swipe machine. It slides along a U-shaped track as his fingers wait to pluck it from back end. He looks up at his computer screen. Appears befuddled. Seconds pass. Hmmmm. He sends the check through the swipe machine again. Fingers waiting, he looks at the screen.

I cannot see the computer screen but my guess is it's bad news. A bit of a frown this time.
The teller reaches to his right for the papers of the drive-up customer, touches them gently, not looking at them, as if to prevent them from blowing away. Concern shows on his face.
                 
I feel concern also.

“Take care of the drive-up person,” I say, feeling empathy, “I’m in no rush at all.”

“Are you sure?’ he asks. His tone is doubtful, but he sounds grateful.

“Yes definitely,” I reiterate, “no rush whatsoever.”

He fiddles with the drive-up papers – sorts them, turns them over. He runs the drive-up check through the swipper machine. He waits. People behind me are, doubtless, fuming - about me.

“The moment of truth,” I think to myself.

He looks at the screen. Crossed fingers I'm betting the drive-up check is OK. More seconds pass.

Yes we know,  ... some days those bank computers can be slow.

His shoulders drop. “Uh oh,” I think.

Then … a miracle … success! He straightens up - big inhale - some final keyboard activity and it’s back to the drive-up window. “Thank you – have a nice day,” I hear him say.

                        Thank you for your patience

He rushes back to me. He asks the teller to his right if she would take the next drive-up customer. She trots back to the window. No more two things at once for him.

“Thank you for your patience,” he says to me. I feel it's genuine. His head is lowered, eyes concentrated on my papers.

“No problem,” I say, “Not easy doing two things at once.”

He gives a half smile, still looking down. I think kindly of him.

My check goes through the swipe machine a third time, out the other end. More staring - waiting. He appears exasperated. I am about to quip, “Guess it’s a bad check,” but this does not seem the time for frivolity.

That swipe didn’t work, so there is now yet another swipe and some more typing. I try to adopt an expressionless look suggesting that I am a Buddhist monk - currently meditating, couldn’t be more peaceful. He types some more, tapping furiously.

Seriously – what exactly is all of this typing?

 It’s a bank secret, that’s what. Don’t ask.

Still typing on. It's enough for a college application essay, I think. Finally he tears off a receipt for me and thanks me again.

“No problem,” I say. I truly was not rushed and, honestly, was somewhat entertained, albeit anxious for him at times.

How About a Lollipop?

As I turn to leave a young woman in jogging shorts and tank top steps toward the counter from the back of the line. What’s she doing? I think, Cutting ahead? She reaches her hand into a small decorative bucket (think Martha Stewart Living) at the end of the counter and fishes out a lollipop. Hmmmm! She rips off the paper and shoves it into her mouth, then retreats to the end of the waiting line (three deep now). I pass her on my way out.

I am tempted to tell her that she is over the age limit for the lollipop bucket, but pass on this joke even though I think it is funny.

I stay mum because there is, going through my mind, the image of a trying-to-be-funny old man (me) - someone who’s always telling quick one-liners because he thinks he's funny, or worse, clever …  ah … well … Let's just say it's not an image that I feel flatters me. That, plus her, pretty young woman in a  tank top and all.