Do banks still have a night drop? The drive-through is driving me nuts.
“Hi I’m Tom I’ll be handling your transaction today,” he said. “What can we do for you.”
The “We,” should have been a giveaway, but I was listening to a Schubert Sonata and missed it.
“What can you do for me?” I said.
He had the deposit slip I’d carefully prepared, an itemized list of the checks included, and each check bearing a stamped endorsement, to the account of, and he was asking what he could do for me?
“It’s a deposit,” I said.
“Alright,” he said, “I’ll get right to it.”
“Thanks,” I said, knowing the thanks was probably premature.
The Schubert Sonata allowed the next 5 minutes to pass agreeably, but five minutes is my limit. I was ready to press the call button when a new face appeared on the fancy video screen that had supplanted the perfectly functional intercom that preceded it. It’s bad enough imagining a twenty-something reading from a script some suit has written for him, delivered in a condescending whine, but watching him force a smile, while not making eye contact and staring blankly into your car, is too much.
“Hi, I’m David I’ll have your deposit done and a receipt out to you in just a moment,” he said.
“That’s what the other fellow said,” I replied.
“Oh,” he said. “You have two of us working for you today.”
“Oh lucky me,” I said. “Two of you, now it will take twice as long.” HIs smile vanished while his lips and eye brows tightened, the screen blinked off.
I returned to the Schubert, and a few minutes later the pneumatic tube did its bit without comment, and delivered my receipt.
I’m sure I’ll continue to use the drive-through, the alternatives are even less appealing, but like Bartleby I’d prefer not to.