This afternoon, I had to run to the bank to deposit one of my meager paychecks. When I got out on the road, I grew very worried. Every road in Madison was jam-packed with cars. I wanted to know what I was missing – it looked exactly like it would look if there were an impending nuclear attack on Central Wisconsin and everyone was trying to get out of town at once. Remember – I was a little kid when the movie \”The Day After\” showed on TV, so I have lived my life in constant fear of a nuclear attack. If you\’re my age, you\’re generally afraid of three things: the Soviet Union launching a nuclear missle at us, the Japanese taking over the entire auto industry, and having to take Long Duk Dong to your school dance.
Apparently, the only impending threat citizens were under was the threat of not getting an extra dollar off of wool socks. It appears that all of society just shuts down the entire week of Christmas.
So naturally, as I got to the bank, there was a line about 12 people deep. The bank had three tellers working – an old lady, a dude, and… well, there\’s no way to beat around the bush on this… a hottie. She had long brown hair and was wearing a fire red sweater that she likely picked out just for me.
I was aware that I had some time to kill, so I looked at the people ahead of me and ran the odds of me ending up at her window. It was a complicated formula – I figured the guy with the club foot would take a little extra time, the lady tapping her foot seemed like she was in a hurry. I suddenly had a plan in place that was only slightly less complicated than the invasion of Normandy. I was going to get to that window. (I had about 20 minutes to think about this, as half the people in line seemed to be taking out home mortgages right there at the teller window.)
As I got to the front of the line, the skies opened, the sun shone, and she called me over. I sauntered toward her window, adopting my best devil-may-care attitude. I tried to adopt a Don Draper-like persona: calm, cool, and mysterious. (I tried to hide the true intent of my visit to the bank – to put money in my checking account – until the very last minute, just to keep up the aura of mystery.) I flipped my check and deposit slip onto the desk, cocked my head to the side, paused, and said \”deposit, please,\” as if James Dean himself were there standing in front of her bank terminal.
She smiled, looked at her computer and began typing. Then she looked at me and leaned forward. I braced for the seductive verbal bouquet that was about to trickle off her lips. She began speaking in a hushed tone, and said:
\”Your credit card is delinquent.\”
I grabbed my receipt and shuffled out. I think I\’ll go through the drive-thru next time.