Today I headed to the bank to convert some large bills into reasonable bills. Funny thing about those casino cash-out machines...they give you the largest bills that fit the amount of your ticket. Except that one at the back that I've only used once, which gave me four $5s instead of one $20.
Anyhoo...my bills were larger than that, and I need a manageable denomination for my play money, because convenience stores don't really cotton to the big bills. Only the gas station chicken store and Waterside Mart don't look askance if you try to fork one over. The others aren't reticent about dishing one out, though, when a big winner is cashed in.
In addition, I needed to break a big bill to give Farmer H. He's got four tickets to the Cardinals game this weekend, and he's taking HOS and his wife and son. Don't go thinking that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom got the short end of the stick on this one. Mrs. HM has been going to Cardinals games since she was L'il Future Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, and her knees have no desire to carry her to such a game these days. Anyhoo...Farmer H is going to have some spending money (courtesy of Mrs. HM's high-rollin' ways) to buy refreshments for the HOS family, and he said he'd prefer five smaller bills rather than one large one. Heh, heh. I suppose I could have given him five dollars...but he probably would have noticed what I did there.
All the way to the bank, I was working on a dialogue in my head. It actually started last night. The last time I went to the bank with a sizeable amount of cash, it was either money from the boys' college accounts to deposit into the bank from the credit union, or the Christmas money I squirrel away all year and then deposit to pay the credit card bill in January. Anyhoo...the teller had voiced her curiosity right across the counter.
"Did you sell a car or something?"
That is nobody's business, I think. Last time I checked, bank patrons don't consult hourly-wage tellers concerning the use of their money. Besides, this was money GOING IN to the bank. Not even money coming out. So I don't see any reason for a teller to know my business. The last time such an inquisition occurred, I answered. It's not like it was a secret. I just thought it was untoward for the teller to ask. If that stupid bank would not put a 10-day hold on cashier's checks, I wouldn't HAVE TO deposit the college money in cash so I can make an e-payment for tuition for #1's non-scholarship remainder.
Anyhoo...I was all worked up, and ready to give any teller who asked about my money a GREAT BIG CHUNK of my mind! Uh huh. I wasn't going to be rude or anything. In fact, I was going to say,
"I'm not trying to be rude or anything. But that's really none of your business. I'm sure you're just trying to be friendly and make conversation. But people don't like being interrogated about their money. So next time, you might want to think twice before you ask somebody, who might think you're being awfully nosy."
Uh huh. Not quite Julia Sugarbaker worthy, but a little speech, nonetheless. I was fired up. Primed and pumped. Loaded for bear.
I walked into the bank lobby with my stack of large bills folded up in my pocket. Carrying my checkbook in case they wanted proof that I have an account there. Can't blame them for that. No need to work for free with money that has nothing to do with their facility. And they don't all know me, because I usually use the ATM or the drive-thru.
Only one customer was ahead of me, and the next teller was available. She motioned me over to her counter gap and asked how she could help me.
"I'd like to change these hundreds into twenties. A lot of twenties."
"Oh. About how many?"
"Well, there are [REDACTED] hundreds there."
"Oh. That IS a lot of twenties."
Well. You know. They're a BANK, for cryin' out loud! If anybody is going to have a lot of twenties laying around, it's a bank. Or a casino.
Teller fished around in a drawer and took out some bundles of twenties and tore the paper wrapper off them, and started counting them out. I did not want to bother her. No need for distraction. But the silence was uncomfortable. It's like when a teacher asks a question, and none of the kids wants to answer, but if that teacher keeps her mouth shut, one of those kids is going to crack, and volunteer some kind of answer, and that will get the ball rolling for a discussion.
Teller had the bills counted out, and stashed the rest back in the drawer. She set the stack of hundreds aside so she had room to count back my twenties.
"I CASHED OUT AT THE CASINO, AND THE MACHINE GAVE ME BIG BILLS! NOW I NEED SMALLER BILLS SO I CAN DEAL WITH THEM."
"Oh, yes. People don't want to take big bills anymore."
Yep. I showed that teller! NOBODY gets into Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's business, by cracky!
5 comments:
You could have launched your verbal assault by calling the teller "Raya Dawn." (I admit. I thought it was Don Juan but I knew that name was not it, so I had to ask your BF.)
Boy, you sure showed her!!
Sioux,
Yes. I didn't think of it while I was planning to give her her comeuppance. It might have gone a little something like this:
"I'd like to thank you, Raya Dawn, for being that minimum wage employee who sees fit to insert herself into the affairs of the customers she is serving. The one who gets just a little bit too personal, too chummy. You ask where we got our money. You ask what we're spending our money on. You chuckle and insinuate that only a fool might buy a bottle of water, when you can get it out of the tap for free. What I'd like you to know, Raya Dawn, is that sometimes, we customers don't need your advice, and sometimes, we resent the Not-Heaven out of your nosiness."
Not quite as good as Julia Sugarbaker. But passable.
***
fishducky,
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom and her business are NOT to be trifled with!
You should channel your inner Julia Sugarbaker more often! That silent treat ment will always make one blurt out their business!
Kathy,
Heh, heh! That it does! And let's hope my inner Julia doesn't get her head stuck between some stair banisters.
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