I stroll into the Bank of America today looking to move my cash into full liquidity, get the last fee removed and impotently rage against the nameless, faceless machine, but using the faces available.
Fuckers to the end.
I get into the teller line, rehearsing my “Can I speak to a manager?” in my head. There’s one teller counting cash or whatever they fucking do behind the counter and the sign saying “Next Teller.” Another is doing something with her back to the line. The third is actually interacting with a customer.
I wait.
Some fucking old broad comes into the bank clutching one of those zippered pouches into which managers jam the cash register cake in retail operations. She sashays right the fuck in front of me in line and shouts, “Hey,” to all the girls. The tellers all look up, smile and greet “Kathy.” So, she walks right up to the counter smack dab in front of my line-waiting dumbassedness and proceeds to get to bidness.
Fuck me. I’m stewing and planning my little ‘splanation about why I hate them. Inside my head, I was all cocksure and righteous and all smart-talking and worthy of banking sympathy. I’m sure out of my head and into my mouth was mealy and weak and whiny.
No mind, the fee is looking to be reversed, and I’ve opened another account at a local bank. Post-holiday, given that lord and turkeys and we all know that bankers ain’t killing themselves moving my cash over Thanksgiving, so post holiday, my money will be moving.
Thanks “Kathy” for being a careless, selfish old biddy bonding with the BofA crew and reenforcing that that ain’t my bank.
As a former bank teller, I think you should have gone to one of the ladies at one of the desks. You’re not going to get satisfaction from a lowley bank teller. They are paid the least and yet they handle all the cold hard cash. Men are almost always trained by a woman and then promoted past her .
Secondly, the lady with the pouch was a local merchant. She was probably as ticked as you that she had to get in line. Her “Greeting” was to let them know that she was there and they should open another window, or, at the very least, take her bag and let her get on with the day.
The woman behind the counter, with her back to you was settling someone’s mistakes from last night or she may actually be processing last nights deposit bags.
Yeah, I know this doesn’t make things better or easier for you. I wish I had thought of this before to tell you about the people at the desks. I hope you got some satisfaction from the process. Fuckers.