In the world of banking, the people on the front lines of the industry are known as tellers. These are the people who are expected to help customers with all of their day to day banking needs. It is often a thankless and miserable position to hold. These are their stories. These are their legends…
Any of you who happens to check up on this blog regularly, or those who know me personally, probably understand that I am a man of limited patience. Or, at least, I was, when I worked for the bank and dealt with the public on a daily basis. Add to that the fact that I owned the drive through lane. Therefore, it should go without saying that I was a huge fan of the quick transactions.
I loved to see someone drive up to my window, deposit in hand. It was a beautiful thing to see everything written in its proper place. I loved those customers.
But, if you’ve read any of these Legends of the Bank Teller, you’re probably aware that stories about the few customers that I liked are just not that entertaining. You would probably be disappointed if this was a post free of complaints about the world of banking and my unfortunate incarceration as I was shackled to the teller drawer.
My complaint in this post has to do with a former co-worker. She seemed to insist on bringing me requests to print off certified checks on a regular basis. Now, I was not a fan of these certified checks. Nor was I a fan of the money orders or the cash advances. The reason being, they took up a lot of time. As I said before, I liked the quick transactions.One day, that former co-worker brought over not one, but three certified checks. At the time, there were only two tellers working, as one had gone home early. I was on the drive through window (where I lived) and the other teller was working the lobby. We had a nice system going. This lobby teller was wrapping up the work she was doing with her current customer, as was I. But since I was fairly quick (or The Flash-like) at what I did, I finished just before she did. So I drew the short straw.
Roughly 10 seconds after I received the three checks to do, someone pulled up to my window. Followed closely by two other cars. As much as I hated doing these checks, I hated even more making customers wait.
I got short with that former co-worker that brought the checks over. I don’t know if I meant to be short with her or not. Looking back, I probably did. There was a big part of me, throughout the years I worked at the bank, that was certain she got some level of amusement from pissing me off. In fact, I’m pretty sure she did it on purpose just to see what kind of reaction she would get.I should have probably explained to her that the way I felt about doing certified checks for her was about the way she felt about having to cover the teller line when we were busy or when one of us was out. She was customer service. She was very comfortable at her desk. She got pretty huffy any time a line formed in the lobby and the manager asked her to help us out. Generally, she wouldn’t do such a thing voluntarily. She usually waited until the manager came to help us himself, then she would realize that she should be helping. But she did so at that point in order to kiss the manager’s butt.
Throughout high school and college, I had a few jobs where I was met with a co-worker who just didn’t like me. I had no idea what I had done to make them dislike me and had no clue how to make amends, even if I’d wanted to. It boggled my mind, because I used to be a pretty nice guy. At the bank, it seemed, I was that other person. I actively disliked a co-worker for petty reasons. The reasons were real enough to me, but in the scheme of things, they were so small. I guess those people I knew back in the day had their reasons, too.