What Happens When You Leave Your Bank Manners At Home
I don’t understand you.
You walk into a bank…you meet a queue. What’s the right thing to do?
Join a queue, right?
But no! You walk to the counter, where I have been standing and then greet the Cashier.
You say “Omo mi” ten times and she replies fifteen times, genuflecting for each of the “yes ma’s”.
I watch you inch closer to the counter in what you think is a smart move.
I smile for two reasons: You have no idea I left my chill at home and because I am not supposed to be in the bank if it weren’t for desperate times. So basically, I’m in a shitty mood.
You start a conversation with Bunmi. She is my account officer but I’m sure you don’t know that. I’m sure it never occurred to you that I may have as well walked up to the counter to collect my money.
You pull out the “Agbalagba” card and flaunt it shamelessly to my face.
I hum a tune and because you see the earpiece, you think I am not listening. You start a conversation with Bunmi and I watch you. Bunmi is trying to be distant because she has felt my wrath before but you keep making small talk.
Oya na. Iya wise. Come and enter.
The man before me finishes his transaction and you quickly slide your teller over the counter, ignoring my presence.
I see red.
“I was here before you. Please remove your teller,” I say in my radio voice. The radio voice.
Bunmi recognises the voice and flings your teller back at you. You take your teller back slowly; like a politician takes back his promises after the election, shamefully bowing your head to the side to avoid my piercing gaze.
My transaction is done within minutes. Bunmi counts my money twice because she knows that #BabesMustHaveCompleteMoneyWithoutStories.
I leave the hall without giving you a second glance. When you get home, fan yourself with your birth certificate.
As for the security men at the door, their “Happy weekend” ma is ignored.
Recession is NOT just a word.
Image credit: The internet