Saturday, June 4, 2011

Deborah, The Bank Teller

She was my lucky bank teller that day.

That sunny, beautiful day. 

THAT day - when I would walk up to her window,
     requesting a very large cashiers check,
which I would soon bring with me to the settlement of my newly purchased house.

Soon, to be my new HOME. 

She had a friendly face, which was needed and valued during my moment of anxiety,
     and warm eyes that peeked out over her glasses.  
"Moment of anxiety" . . . . . . . ha!

I laughed to myself, as I could not remember the last time I was NOT feeling anxious.

Not lately, anyways.

Through the opening, at the bottom of the glass window,
     I handed her the small piece of paper with my account number
and the amount that I needed for the check.

I, then, opened my wallet to retrieve my driver's license,


Are you kiDDING me? 

Are you KIDDing me?

My driver's license sits, uninterrupted, in the sleeve of my wallet, most days of the year,

BUT, when I NEED it - like, at the airport,
or on those occasional rare days when I get "carded",
     or, apparently, when I am at the bank,
about to write the largest check EVER, in my lifetime -

it goes MISSING! 

My mind went blank, as I tried to think why it would not be in my wallet. 

When would I have taken it out of my wallet, and for what? 

     "You DO need to see my driver's license, right?"  I asked
                        (though, it was more like a confirmation, than a question). 

She smiled a calm smile, and nodded her head.

I scrounged through the bottom of my purse, and . . . . . . 

A HA! 

( It is only now, as I am writing this,
     that I remembered using it at the very same bank, just days before.     
Obviously, I did not put it back properly.) 

I slid it under the window.

     "I need you to write this out for the amount that you need," she said,
                                             as she handed me a pen and a blank check.

As I began to write out the numbers on the blank line provided,
     I realized that the only time I had ever written a number that size on a check,
was back in grade school math class, FOR PRACTICE.

At the time, I think I may have even thought it was fun. 

As I handed the check back to her, I held it with a firm grip,
     as she attempted to take it from me - her eyes half smiling, half questioning.

"I'm . . .  not . . .  ready . . .  to . . .  let . . .  go!"  I told her, as she broke out into laughter.

I did, though, and she stepped away from the counter for a few moments with my check.

She came back, and held up a newly printed check for me to see.

     "This is the correct amount, right?" she asked.

     "Yep," I said, as the number glared back at me.  "That's what I wrote."

     "Anything else that I can help you with?" she asked. 

     "Do you really want me to answer that quesion?" I asked back. 

In a very wise sounding tone,
as she handed me the check and my driver's license, she said,

     "It will all work out.  It always does."

Funny, but those are words that I always seem to be telling myself.

On this day, however, I needed to hear it from someone else.

That "someone" was Deborah, the Bank Teller.

     "I have a feeling," I said, "that I will not be forgetting your name anytime soon, Deborah."

She laughed, and said,

     "Have a wonderful day, Leslie!"


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