The Hilarity Within Annoying Situations
Hilarious Stress Short # 529. Ready?
Go into A Bank.
Approached by The Greeter.
Greeter rushes over to me, as if in a panic.
I hastily arrange the look on my face. Done. Appear unapproachable, unwell, stressed. I’ve worked hard on this facial and physical expression. I wanna be left alone. Should work like a charm.
Am I that adorable? Pitiable? That poor an actress?
“Good Morning!” The Greeter howls at me.
Fully blocking my b-line to The Teller (the sole person I want to see) The Greeter sidles up to me.
“So!” The Greeter asks me, her head shaking like Elvis, “What’cha got planned for today?”
Glad I’m wearing dark sunglasses. My eyes are starting to roll.
I’ve been wrestled down to the ground by The Greeter one too many times, metaphorically speaking, so by now I have a standard answer: ” I have no idea.”
My preferred response: “I just had sex with my partner. For the rest of the day I plan to smoke a cigarette.”
Honestly. What is this? You go into a bank, you want money, you want out.
I know, sour grapes. I should be nicer to people who work so hard, or, in this case, who are worked so hard to appear to care a whit about my life.
But I don’t have time to chitchat when accessing my funds, and, let’s be honest, The Greeter Does Not Care about me! She’s watching the clock like the rest of us, praying for the shift to be over! She’s so sick of asking probing questions to perfect strangers! It’s all so disingenuous! Lower all my service charges, let’s talk about that! Let’s talk about banks generating record profits… wanna?
I release myself from the grip of The Greeter and lunge forward to The Teller. Progress.
The Teller smiles deeply (to feign interest in my life,) and says to me, no lie: “So, what’cha got planned for today?”
My mouth drops. What is this, 20 questions? If I don’t answer these queries, am I forbidden from accessing my own funds?
My answer: “I don’t know.”
The transaction moves along, I get my money. As a parting gift, I’m asked by The Teller to comment on the weather. By this point I’m incredulous. My answer: ” I don’t know what day it is, what month it is, let alone what the weather is.”
Stunned laughter from The Teller. Transaction: complete.
Do I get to leave now?
Money in hand, I attempt to speed walk out the bank. Doesn’t work. Before I am set free, The Greeter halts my desperate passage to The Other Side.
She runs up to me, and almost out of breath, chortles: “Are you excited about your upcoming weekend?”
My answer: “No.”
She forces a surprised smile. Steps aside.
My passage, now clear. I race to my car, tripping and bumping into people. I vow to make financial transactions by computer from now on.
Go to The Bank in 2012, prepare for a Personal Interrogation. Is ‘The Greeter’ concept a corporate attempt to make the world a friendlier place? Do you feel warm and fuzzy when a total stranger blocks your way, pretends to want to know your business?
I surely don’t. Count me out, please!
What’s your take?