“How was your weekend?” asked Stacie, a teller at my bank.
“It wasn’t was great,” I stammered, pushing the deposit envelope just a bit. I had to quit doing my banking on Mondays or Tuesdays. The tellers always asked about my weekend.
I would try to change the topic, but these people are very persistent. “Did you do something exciting? Stacie would press on.
“Yes, I did.” I was in trouble now. I had nothing interesting to tell her.
“What was it?”
“Stacie, I’ll take the cash I just withdrew in three, fifty-dollar bills,” I instructed her, hoping to reduce the time of the financial transaction and thus shorten the length of the mini-interrogation. But maybe I should have taken all singles, thus giving me more time to think. I knew I had just had a weekend; I just couldn’t remember what I did during it.
The bank employees were only trying to be friendly, but they are all in their 20s and probably had a rip-roaring Friday and Saturday night. The truth is that for me, simply getting a little dough out of my checking account is about the peak of my adrenalin rush for the week.
For a few weeks I tried telling the absolute truth, so when Stacie asked me about my weekend on a Monday, I’d say: We watched ‘Blue Bloods’ on Friday night, made a stop at Sam’s Club on Saturday to pick up one of their awesome barbecue chickens, watched ‘Meet the Press’ on Sunday morning, and that evening went to MCL about 4:30 for the baked tilapia. Then Stacie would give me the money I had withdrawn, but she probably also wanted to give me a hug and a cane or go with me to MCL to blow on my soup.
That’s when I decided to go to the bank on Fridays, assuming that the previous weekend was too far in the past for the staff to inquire about. But then Stacie questioned whether I had any big plans for the coming two days. I was honest again. I told her: We planned to watch “Blue Bloods” on Friday night, make a stop at Sam’s Club on Saturday to pick up one of their awesome barbecue chickens, watch “Meet the Press” on Sunday and then head over to MCL about 4:30 for the baked tilapia.
The expression on her face was not only sympathy for my pitiful weekend plans, but it showed her terror that one day she would be a senior citizen too, and this was what she had to look forward to. Later that day, I told Mary Ellen that we had a responsibility to cheer up this young lady about the prospect of getting older, even if it meant shading the truth a bit.
“So, Mary Ellen, how about if I tell her we’re talking about going skiing in Colorado?”
“Wow, that is a great idea, Dick. We haven’t gone skiing — let me think about this — ever. So, are we really going now?”
“No, of course not, but like I said, we will talk about it, maybe on the way to pick up that awesome chicken.
So last week I chatted with Stacie about skiing, but we mostly made small talk about the weather and how my dog was doing. I do think the bank should show interest. But only in principal.
“How was your weekend?” asked Stacie, a teller at my bank.
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