Unfortunately a visit to the bank was necessary this morning to get rid of a few cheques and cash that some of my less enlightened guests had insisted on giving me this week.
As I entered the bank I was surprised how busy it was and took a slalom course around various disheveled bodies towards the sole business teller at the far end of the bank. I walked past an unwashed, tattooed rabble forming a rag-tag line that went almost to the door. They were waiting with blank stares for a busy team of personal banking tellers to serve them.
I always feel awkward going to the segregated business teller and this morning dozens of eyes that were stuck in a crowded slow moving line seemed to stare enviously at me as I waited patiently behind only one other person.
As I waited, I observed that the routine performed by the numerous personal banking tellers was the same. The customer clutching a withdrawal form swaggered forward when their turn came and grunted at the teller in pigeon English for their balance. When this was revealed, an amount was then able to be scrawled onto a withdrawal form and shoved at the teller. A wad of cash was handed over in return.
It occurred me that the person in front of me at the business section was the only other person in the bank making a deposit while the remaining shabby tattooed mob of what Michael Laws would uncharitably describe as ferals were all making withdrawals.
I naively wondered who was paying for the rapid extraction of cash that was being efficiently performed...... and then it struck me.
