Everyday Comedy

The drive-up ATM line is a clusterfuck as usual, here in this sudden population boom suburb, so I pull around to the front. The drive through lanes all having proudly displayed in red how closed they were, I figured the inside was, too, so I swiped the ATM card through the spy slit in the side of the brass-framed glass to reach the lobby ATM, to make my deposit of half the rent I was owed, finally received. I waited to hear the click of the spy slot rendering my security clearance valid. I didn't but I still yanked at the thick handle and wide it swung, some greeter cheerily saying, "Hello!" as I, within milliseconds, felt foolish to have done the thing you do when the bank is closed, when the bank was clearly open. 

Chuckling very small to myself, at myself, I approached the kiosk where the tethered pens, one always missing, somehow, exposing some hole in writing utensil security because all their eyes are on the money. Signing neatly (for once) and dutifully writing the appropriate digits that spell my name in bank language on the back of the money order, I strode forward to one of two tellers, who started the transaction, not annoyed, but not altogether thrilled to see me.

"Do you have one of those smart phones?" she asked me, like I'd just arrived from a quonset hut in some rural village and might not be aware they existed. "Yep," I replied. "Have you downloaded the app?" she pressed. "No," I answered, beginning to see where she was going with this conversation but nonetheless determined not to assist. "Yeah, you can just take a picture of these and make the deposit," she said, out loud, to me. "Thereby rendering your job completely unnecessary," my always defensive brain spouted off. 

Somehow, common sense intervened with my mouth this time, and I just nodded and left. Shut up, Overanalysis Girl, no one wants to hear your logic.


"Perfect weather for a streamlined world / There'll be spandex jackets, one for everyone." - D. Fagen


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