Jay at the Bank

Jay just wants to deposit his paychecks.  The Bank of America ATM just doesn’t want to accept his money.  Hey busily types in his password again, selects English as his language again, deposit, checking, amount: $ 431.83.  Denied.  Again.  He tries one last time.  Still the same rejection.  Reluctantly he retrieves his ATM card and useless receipts.  He heaves himself up the steps, one after the other.  His New Balances drag while his nylon pants swish.  A layer of perspiration still hovers about him.  He pulls the heavy glass door open.  A blast of cold refrigerated bank air envelopes him, a relief from the dense inland air stagnant outside.  The line is long.  They have actually utilized the maze of nylon boundary.  The line weaves past loan officers and signs boasting “Free Checking!” and “Low A.P.R.!”.  Everyone has a pitiful face on: “I knew I couldn’t get this done on my lunch break.”  They are all at mercy of the one, single, lonely bank teller.  One.

There is only one “guest” in front of Jay at this point.  But, his hands begin to sweat.  He’s both cold and hot.  His mouth is dry.  The room is closing in.  His ears are beginning to ring.  Last thoughts:  “Ok, I could get to my car and barf, or I could make it home really fast, or I should have eaten before I ran those twelve miles this morning.”  Jay’s eyes roll back.  He drops to the ground.  His knees hit first, then the left side of his forehead on the newly polished cream-colored marble.  His whole body then slumps to the side.  The cavernous bank building echoes with strained voices and footsteps.  “Call 911!” someone exclaims.

Jay comes to almost immediately, however.  The older women waiting in line clutch their purses and their recently permed ringlets quiver.  A middle-aged man in a crisp suit, gelled hair, clean-shaven has dropped to one knee next to Jay.  He holds his head just off the cool marble floor.  “Someone has already called an ambulance, are you alright?” the man asks.  And just then the ambulance arrives, record timing.

“What is your name sir”
“How old are you sir”
“21 yeeeah.”
“What day is it sir?”
“Taaco Tuuuesday!”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: