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.
I went to school for Fine Arts. I'm an accomplished sketch artist, painter, photographer, writer, and designer. I'm gruff, rough, and kinda tough. So how the HELL did I end up working at Fiscal United Bank? The following stories are all true accounts of the day to day insanity that I have encountered as a representative of Fiscal United Bank. Only the names and minor details have been changed to protect... well, to protect me from litigation, frankly.
