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!
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.
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