Profiles In Stupidity: Stan

If brains were gunpowder, Stan couldn’t blow a gay sailor at Mardi-Gras. He’s addicted to video games, and red bull, and probably coke, and very likely date rape, and he’s one of those guys who will be an active member of his fraternity until the day he dies. He’s Joey from friends with acne.

He says he’s going to be an auditor, or an accountant, or something similar. Every other word out of his mouth is dude. He is a mouth breathing troglodyte, and God help the person or business who relies on him to make sure that they are doing their finances the right way. He probably thinks he can succeed based on his ability to construct a kick ass metropolis on SimCity, or something equally arbitrary.

Profiles In Stupidity: Latoya

Takes no guff, wastes no words, has no brains. Wears a big gold tooth and shifty, beady eyes. Routinely takes time during her busy work day to put gas in her car or do some grocery shopping. Not on her appointed break time, mind you. Oh, no, why should she use her own time to run her personal errands when management allows her to leave whenever it’s convenient for her to do it?

Latoya has been serving as the acting head teller since our real head teller decided she couldn’t take it here any more. Not that they would actually make her head teller; she’s far to brash and rude (a.k.a. a Bitch) She wields her purloined station like the leader of the Kodan Armada with his pointy little scepter (so I’m a movie buff, sue me). She is our head tyrant, not our head teller.

Sample:

Me: Latoya, can I please get some tens?

Latoya: You don’t need no tens.

Me (perplexed): Latoya, my last client needed a hundred and sixty dollars worth, and I only have three tens left.

Latoya (nastier): You don’t need no tens.

Me (dumbfounded): O.K., then.

(Two clients later)

Client: Yes, I’d like this cashed out, and can I get fifty dollars of that in tens?

Me: I’m sorry, I don’t have any tens left.

Jean (rising from her desk like a shrouded, shrieking ghoul): What do you mean, you’re out of tens?!? How could you run out of a denomination?!?

Me (pointing at Latoya): Talk to Latoya. She wouldn’t give them to me when I needed them.

Latoya (with a nasty, death-wishing look in her eyes): Mutter, grumble, mutter…

There are four words to describe Latoya: Gash, Fucking, Stupid and Nasty. I’ll let you arrange them in any order you wish.

Profiles In Stupidity: Tracy

I've long hated when people interrupt you in mid sentence. It's just downright rude, and because I don't do it, more and more I find myself not contributing to conversations.

Well, today I met someone with Sudden Interruption Syndrome. One of the new girls at work, Tracy. I was in mid sentence, talking about the training program for the bank, when she launched into her statement on the subject. I stopped speaking and paid her her due attention. A few seconds later, she interrupted my next words with some of her own, and once again, I stopped speaking, listening to her. But the third time, I made a split second decision; I would continue to speak and see how long she would go on.

LITERALLY nine seconds went by with the both of us speaking at the same time, AND SHE DIDN'T GET THE HINT. Do you know how hard it is to continue speaking for nine seconds when someone is interrupting you mid sentence? I eventually had to give up, and finally, I just stopped trying to speak to her.

The Woman Who "Bleed" Herself

I'm sitting at my teller station when a blonde woman steps up to the counter. She looks a little loopy, clumsy, but I attribute that to the fact that half of the clients at my station are usually mentally unstable (as well as half of my co-workers).

So this woman asks me to process her deposit, which I begin. Being that there were quite a few checks in the deposit, it was taking a little longer than usual. This woman looks up at me suddenly, and says “Oh, my God, I’m bleeding.”

“My goodness,” I reply, “are you O.K.?”

She turns and begins to run out of the branch.

“Should I call an ambulance?” I call after her, to which I hear a faint negative reply as the door shuts.

When my manager gets up to find out what happened, she looks down at the floor in front of my station and a look of revulsion crosses her features. “Is that pee?” she says, and my day exits the Normal Highway and takes a detour into Disgusting Town.

I guess she didn’t say “bleeding” after all. Either that, or she was so horrified over the concept that she was pissing herself in public that she would rather have everyone think she was suffering from a hemorrhage of some sort. The other tellers said she was reeking of booze, but I couldn't smell it. That's not the only reason I'm glad I have a cold!

S.O.S. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday

So I have been pushed to the main teller line by the fact that one of our tellers has departed for good. It’s annoying, because I’m still the main operator of the drive up station, which is at the other end of the teller line, primarily because the other tellers I work with are lazy ass shits. They will act as if the tube has not just crashed to Earth behind them. Even if all four of us are helping clients, no one else will make a move to help the drive up client after they finish, even if they finish before me. There are a few random exceptions, most notably if there is a more undesirable client next in line in the lobby.

Jean is no help. She is like someone’s crazy old grandmother, hitting people with shoes and cackling madly at jokes that only she gets (like randomly quoting Joss Ackland from Lethal Weapon 2 out of context; "Diplomatic Immunity. Ha ha ha ha ha.")

And Caroline? I look at her every once in while, sitting behind her desk. She looks as if she opened her eyes and suddenly discovered she was in someone else’s place of business with no idea of how she got there. Literally. She’s looking around, her eyes narrowed, scanning the place as if trying to recognize her own branch.

I am starting to feel like I crash landed on the planet Idiot.

I am officially requesting rescue.