I went to the bank yesterday and asked for something I never had before, a certified bank check. The teller asked me for the amount and my mothers maiden name. Then she typed a lot of something into the computer, while impatiently pressing the space bar with her slightly chubby fingers.
Then she pulled out a small slip of paper, the size of a deposit slip, and she wrote on it, “Thats my man.” She scurried over to the other teller and gave her the note. Then spent some time over on the other side looking in a drawer so that her man would notice her, but in her brightly striped green sweater who could miss her really.
Then she was back and writing things and typing them and ripping things and asking me to write my ss# out and then where I worked and then what I did for a living.
Gone again out the door, back again with papers and pens and more voracious typing.
As she crouched down to write something out, her man walked by to leave and she took her gaze away from my certified document and gawked practically open mouthed as he passed and I was still standing straight in front of her. She just could not control herself I suppose.
So now I will never know how long the process of ordering a certified check actually takes. I wanted to be angry, but I just wasnt, I laughed to myself instead. It probably made her day that her man came in and as for my certified check, it made my day.