There was a mysterious, fractious devil in the air yesterday. A little mystery I never got to the bottom of. But it sponsored an interesting merry-go-round at the bank:
After waiting in line for fifteen minutes, the lady behind the counter, speaking in an almost inaudible tone, told me my expired driver's license wasn't adequate identification for her to be able to cash my cheque, and that I'd have to go to my car and retrieve my non-photo, interim driver's license.
"Er, okay..." I said, waiting a moment for her to hand back my cheque and expired license.
But instead of doing that, she said simply, "Go ahead. I'll wait."
So I went to my car, fished out the piece of paper that would somehow, mysteriously identify me as me, and returned to find the lady was now serving an old man. Being the easy-going lad I am, I got back in line and decided to simply wait for another teller.
Ten minutes later, I explained the situation to another lady behind the counter, assuming she would simply have the cheque passed down to her from the first lady.
But instead; "Yeah, you can wait for her to finish [with the old man]."
"I may? Cool, thanks!"
I don't know if my sarcasm registered, but everyone seemed uncomfortable when I stayed at the front of the line, starring calmly at the tellers for another five minutes. Finally, the old man finished his dissertation on his own savings account, and the original teller wordlessly cashed my cheque. And why don't banks have air-conditioning? I ask you.
The evening was unproductive. Deciding to save money on gas at all costs (twenty dollars gave me only half a tank), I walked to Target and almost bought several movies, but ended up not buying any. I'm sorely tempted to buy Match Point which, if I may remind those who haven't yet seen it, is a brilliant work of cinema.