To the Bank

About once a week at work I got to the bank to drop off the deposit. There are four tellers, and Moe is my favorite. She has a six month old son whose name translates to “Great Light,” and she eats a ton of yogurt. Rita has a nervous laugh. Faye is quick and quiet; her hand flies over the adding machine. When I say, “Have a good day, Faye,” she always smiles and waves. Mrs. Gee (her nameplate says Lulu, but I’d never call her that) of the perpetual scowl is actually quite nice, I’ve found, easily plied with a smile and a “thank you so much”. 

Most people, I’ve found, are easily plied that way. 

We talk about the weather, the day of the week, the things you talk to people about at the bank. I take my sunglasses off. 

Today it was warm enough to go without a coat. There were buds on the trees. “Have a good day, Faye!” I said, before I left, and she smiled.