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…
Scenario: Douche Bag drives up to the window and asks for a blank deposit ticket. That’s strike one. Technically, one was supposed to have all of their items prepared before pulling up to the window. There was a sign and everything. But that was one of those policies that we had a tendency to let slide more often than not. Also, to say that he “asked” for a blank deposit ticket would be too kind. Basically, he demanded a blank deposit ticket.
At the time, I was helping a customer in the lobby, but was almost finished. So I handed out the blank ticket and completed the lobby customer’s transaction. By the time I returned, Douche Bag was ready to have me run his deposit. I pulled in the drawer and my eyes were immediately drawn to the wad of hundred dollar bills sitting on top of the deposit slip.
I picked it all up, felt the weight of it, and read the amount written on the ticket. $5500. That’s a lot of money. Now, for security purposes, I’m not supposed to accept cash deposits of more than $1000 at the drive through. I do make exceptions for people when it’s necessary. You know, people with handicaps, people with loud and/or obnoxious children that are difficult to wrangle into the branch, things of that nature. Douche Bags in a Tahoe with more cash than they know what to do with? They can get their lazy butts out of the SUVs and bring it inside.
Of course, he huffed, but he parked and walked in. Once I had finished his deposit, he
asked for demanded his balance. Ladies and gentlemen, the powers that be at our bank couldn’t care less who makes a deposit into an account, but if you want to make a withdrawal or even get the slightest information, you’d better be prepared to present some ID. So I asked for his ID. He whined about it being in the car.
This is the part where he raised his voice and complained about how the Garner branch never gave him a hard time like this. I rolled my eyes, probably so he could see it, and turned around and proceeded to print his balance. I was beyond caring by that point. By then, he had made me just angry enough to want to get him out of my face as quickly as possible. If he hadn’t left soon, he would have been asking to see the manager because I would have said something very rude that would probably have cost me my job.
He snatched the receipt out of my hand so fast that I thought I might have gotten a paper cut. I went ahead and wished him a pleasant afternoon in the most polite voice I could muster. By this time in my career as a bank teller, I was getting pretty good at faking a good attitude in front of customers that pissed me off.
So, to the Douche Bag, thank you for taking me from what had been an otherwise pretty good day to a short time of mindless rage. Have fun in Garner!