Ever been in a bank where there's obviously a dimmer switch at play? Not sure who's brilliant idea it was to light the joint like a night club. Is it supposed to have a soothing effect? Why not let the tellers sip appletinis and bolt a fucking condom machine to the wall. Given what I know about germs on the money, it seems somehow appropriate to create a banking environment where I wouldn't be surprised to catch hepatitis.
What better way to accentuate the bar effect than post a faux-hawk coiffed asshole by the front door to pounce on me the second I open the door, armed with the same sorry pick up line:
"Is there something I can help you with today?"
Yeah, I'm in the market for a new bicycle. What do you think I'm doing here, dumbshit? Am I even obligated to answer? I wonder what would happen if I ignored him. Walked around him. I pretend I'm a traveling salesman who's happened upon a farm. He's the farmer and the window tellers are his daughters. Then I pee on his popcorn (I don't expect anyone to understand what that means, but I'm putting it in anyways).
I tell the Mr. Hostess I'm making a deposit and hold them up since he seems like the kind of person who could benefit from a visual demonstration. After giving my hand a thoughtful exam (Perhaps too much thought. Checking for a ring? A guy can dream), he attempts to turn our little Q&A into a discussion.
"A deposit? Do you need any deposit slips?"
The logical conclusion is that I don't require any because I HAVE A WHOLE HANDFUL WHICH I AM HOLDING AT EYE LEVEL. Perhaps he's concerned I may have run out considering I have a bunch of deposit slips, but now that they've been all written on and shit, they're worthless. I shake my head and give him that 'I can't believe you haven't accidentally killed yourself yet' look. He smiles and points towards the tellers:
"They can help you with that right over here."
Thanks for the fire, Prometheus.
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