Yeah, so, sometimes I have to go into the bank and deal with an actual living human being instead of using an ATM machine.
You’ve probably never been inside a bank before, huh? Back in the day, people used to have to go into a building called “a bank” and hand something called “checks” to a person called a “bank teller.” The bank teller would then put your money in your account for you. If you wanted to get cash, you had to fill out a “withdrawal slip.” It was a pain in the ass. Ask your grandparents about it. Also, call your grandparents. They miss you.
So anyway, usually, I can get in and out of the bank quickly, unless I go to the Well Fargo on the corner of Mission and Ocean in the Outer Mission. That bank is strange; so strange it could have its own A&E reality show.
The line is always crazy long. There appears to be extra security, and there’s a security camera set up behind the tellers, and huge video monitor by the teller windows. While you are standing in line, you can watch yourself on this big-screen TV. It’s very distracting. “Oh my god! Is that really what I look like?! Oh my god! My shirt is inside out!” One time in that bank, the man behind me had a beeper. A beeper?! The gentleman in front of me was wearing acid wash jeans. I thought maybe when I walked into the bank I had walked into the past. Another time, I watched a man dump a brown paper bag full of cash on to the counter to make a deposit. Yeah, that’s not questionable.
The last time I went to that bank, the bank teller informed me that she was 1 years old when I first opened my checking account. Gee, thanks. That makes me feel awesome. I responded by saying, “That reminds me of the time I took the ferry to Shelbyville …”