I went to the bank the other day to cash a $300.oo check.  It was your average bank experience. I sent them the check, I requested they please send me big bills back (they spend slower),  I received my envelope.  Easy.  Because I don’t like to be the jerk that holds up the line at the bank, I just left.  I didn’t thumb through the envelope to check how many dollars were there.  I didn’t ensure that I had my ID and debit card.  I just left.

Hours later, I was at home, sorting out the contents of my purse, when I discovered that there was only $18.00 in that envelope.  Of course, by the time I made that discovery, it was 1830, (6:30 p.m. for those of you who are addicted to the 12-hour clock), and I couldn’t do anything about being short-changed $282 dollars until the next day.

Well, I couldn’t do anything but yell. And man, I wanted to yell.  So I looked up the number for my local bank’s branch, and worked my way though the number-punch system until I found the bank manager’s voicemail.  I left a message on there that would have made my mother blush.  It was one of those messages where the tone and the words are both totally polite, but really, you know that the person leaving that message was PISSED.  I call it a polite scathing message.  I politely scathed the shit out of the bank manager.  I told her I expected phone calls and explanations and, most of all, for the situation to be brought to swift justice SO SAYETH THE LORD, LADY.  I was going to go all Pulp Fiction on their asses; I really, really was.

Right after I hung up the phone with her, I picked up the phone to call Zack and tell him what TOTAL IDIOTS the bank people were.  As the phone was ringing, I pulled my wallet out of my purse.  And out of my wallet, I pulled a check.  For $300.00.  Then I remembered that the other day, my friend Josie had given me an $18.00 check to give to my mom for some embroidery work mom had done for her.  Just as Zack answered the phone, I realized what had happened.

I had to explain that I’d called him to do a little vent-yelling, because the bank had ripped me off by only giving me $300 instead of $18.  And that I’d just found the $300 check.  Which means that I just left a politely scathing message on the bank manager’s phone because her teller had done her job and OH MY GOD. I just realized, I ASKED FOR BIG BILLS.  I cashed an $18 check, and I asked for big bills. I am a total asshole.

Zack laughed and laughed.  The only words he could eek out between his gasps for breath were: “Like, what? A ten and a five? IMPRESSIVE.”

The second message on the bank manager’s answering machine went something like this: “Hiiiiii theeerrrreee.  It’s Sarah again.  About that first message? SORRY ABOUT THAT.  I actually just found the $300 check, and turns out, I really did cash an $18 dollar one.  And Hilda?  That teller I threw under the bus a minute ago? SHE’S SUPER. GREAT WORK. Because she didn’t even crack a laugh at me when I asked her through the intercom to please give me big bills.  Instead, she just sent me a 10, a 5, and three 1s.  Heh. Heh heh…. aaaaah. Yeah. Good times. Sorry again. Bye!”