I sat there, waiting impatiently for what seemed like hours. Every once in a while an attractive guy teller walked by, a trail of sweat piercing the bank smell, which was always fresh from an overworked air-conditioner, no matter the season. The temperature of that bank was a perfect reflection of the business itself – cold and stiff – it was totally out of place in this town.
I waited some more.
The bank manager hummed to himself so loud everyone could hear. It was annoying, but he was a sweet enough guy that people ignored it.
I waited some more.
I began to get uncomfortable as the day’s lunch digested. Edamame and bank air do not mix well. One does not trust the other. No one trusts a bank, even the soy beans. First I felt the bloating.
And I waited some more.
How long could it take to retrieve my application? What were they doing? Where did they go? Then, I felt my gurgling intestinal tract.
A frog quietly escaped.
The manager hummed. A teller made small talk with me while looking me square in the chest before returning to his one-foot wide window with the flair taped to the countertop.
They couldn’t find the application. Would I mind filling out the forms all over again? They just couldn’t imagine where the application had gone. I suspected it snuck away for a lewd vacation with my healthy intestinal tract and left this rancid one behind for me to enjoy on this day, right here and now.
Another frog escaped undetected. I sat and waited as the bank “team” searched some more. I shifted in my spongy, cheaply upholstered bank chair. Something felt very wrong. Oh crap! I had to get out of there and fast. More than a frog had escaped. The realization swept over me like a druggy fog. I was horrified. I had slightly crapped my cutoffs, and now I could feel the coldness of it against my butt cheeks. So: The poo had smeared. Eewww.
All in all, the bank kind of deserved it, but I don’t think they knew because thank God, it didn’t soak through. They had kept me waiting for my application for damn near an hour, and as usual, the bank made me pay the price. The assholes topped it off by declining my application.
The bank that made me dirty
I sat there, waiting impatiently for what seemed like hours. Every once in a while an attractive guy teller walked by, a trail of sweat piercing the bank smell, which was always fresh from an overworked air-conditioner, no matter the season. The temperature of that bank was a perfect reflection of the business itself – cold and stiff – it was totally out of place in this town.
I waited some more.
The bank manager hummed to himself so loud everyone could hear. It was annoying, but he was a sweet enough guy that people ignored it.
I waited some more.
I began to get uncomfortable as the day’s lunch digested. Edamame and bank air do not mix well. One does not trust the other. No one trusts a bank, even the soy beans. First I felt the bloating.
And I waited some more.
How long could it take to retrieve my application? What were they doing? Where did they go? Then, I felt my gurgling intestinal tract.
A frog quietly escaped.
The manager hummed. A teller made small talk with me while looking me square in the chest before returning to his one-foot wide window with the flair taped to the countertop.
They couldn’t find the application. Would I mind filling out the forms all over again? They just couldn’t imagine where the application had gone. I suspected it snuck away for a lewd vacation with my healthy intestinal tract and left this rancid one behind for me to enjoy on this day, right here and now.
Another frog escaped undetected. I sat and waited as the bank “team” searched some more. I shifted in my spongy, cheaply upholstered bank chair. Something felt very wrong. Oh crap! I had to get out of there and fast. More than a frog had escaped. The realization swept over me like a druggy fog. I was horrified. I had slightly crapped my cutoffs, and now I could feel the coldness of it against my butt cheeks. So: The poo had smeared. Eewww.
All in all, the bank kind of deserved it, but I don’t think they knew because thank God, it didn’t soak through. They had kept me waiting for my application for damn near an hour, and as usual, the bank made me pay the price. The assholes topped it off by declining my application.