TELLER NUMBER ZERO…

I’ve always felt very edgy anytime I enter the banking hall. And I don’t visit the banking hall very often. I don’t think it’s fear; no, not at all. I’ve always prided myself in the fact that I don’t fear anything and indeed I know I don’t. Maybe it’s consciousness of an extreme, almost surreal nature. Just maybe. For this reason, my ATM card is always with me wherever I am. In fact, if I had my own way, I’d prefer that all banking activities should be limited to the ATM. Period. I’m sorry I have to say this my banking friends but this is just something I feel within me. You can call it a selfish desire, a phobic or phobia-infested desire, call it whatever you will and I just might agree with you.

It all starts the moment I see the bank building. Sometimes, no, most of the time, I even forget to say hello to the security guy at post. And because of this, I am always embarrassed when they swiftly come to my rescue either by pushing or pulling the unlabelled sliding door for me. And by the way, why are some of these doors not labelled?

I remember one time, I was seriously struggling with one of those doors; there was no sign that said to pull or push. The security guy must have left his post momentarily because he was nowhere to be found. And before he could come to my aid, the small leather folder I was holding fell and all my stuff including a tissue-wrapped piece of ‘boflot’ I had conveniently tucked away in the folder scattered innocently on the floor. The ‘boflot’ rolled with all naivety into the banking hall and settled at the feet of one anxious looking lady in the queue. My eyes followed it until it finally got there and you can imagine my shame when I lifted my eyes and met hers. She giggled and the whole hall was soon plunged into a moment of laughter! Quickly I gathered what I thought was necessary and fled from the scene! I have since not done any business with that branch.

And this is just one of my many frustrations. Now let’s see what happens when I enter the banking hall. First; all eyes turn to look at me anytime I enter and i get really sweaty and nervous by that. I have come to a conclusion on that. Here’s what I think; everybody in the hall except the tellers and maybe the messengers are bored. They’ve been sitting and waiting for one thing or the other for a long time. To relieve them of their boredom, they long for something new. Something other than the faces of tiredness and boredom that stare at them wherever they turn. Something other than the bank logos, nicely polished furniture and bright flying ties that keep filing past them all the time. They find the door of the main entrance, an opportunity; an opportunity to stare at something new. It could be a beautifully dressed lady, a heavily bearded bulky fellow or indeed anything. So far as it’s new, it’s an opportunity. And so even though I don’t blame them much for staring, that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like it.

The last time I walked into my bank, I was made to fill a withdrawal form before I could withdraw money from my account. Now I am only asked to write on a small sheet of paper, the amount I want to withdraw and my account number or something like that. Things keep changing don’t they? So you can imagine my embarrassment when I confidently walked up to one of the bank staff the other day and asked for a withdrawal form. He stared straight into my eyes and shook his head. I was shocked. Without saying a word, he took a piece of paper and told me to write out my account number and amount.

‘That’s it?’ I asked.

‘Yes. That’s it’ He responded with a wry smile spreading at the corner of his mouth. I was embarrassed. Things had changed that much and I didn’t know? Boy!

Now it was time for me to join the queue. I hate queues with a passion and to complicate matters, I always approach the queue in the bank, the wrong way. I don’t know why but it always happens. The cordon like ‘thing’ that serves as a waiting line in the bank is somewhat interesting or rather confusing for me. There are no signs to tell you where to enter and exit. And for me, I always enter the line from the exit believe it or not! Every time I do this, I can be sure that one angry man or woman in the long queue will look at me from the corner of their eyes and mutter a few obscenities into my hearing. It is only then that I would remember I’d gone the wrong way. Not again!

At the counter, I’m always a bit unsure of myself. Maybe I hadn’t indicated the exact amount I needed; or the account number I’d provided wasn’t what it was supposed to be. Maybe there was no money in my account. These thoughts race back and forth through my mind as I wait for the teller to look up. The quietness that descends when the teller begins to verify the information is killing! And all the time I feel like sinking into the belly of the earth. Behind me, there’s always that heat and tension that seems to mount with intensity every passing second. In such moments, I try not to look behind me lest I meet the terrifying gaze of an angry customer impatiently waiting to be served. Finally, the teller looks up at me and pushes the piece of paper back to me. He tells me to check my account number again. Now I’m looking hard at the sheet of paper; I had made a mistake again? Yes, I knew I would! I check my account number from my diary and quickly correct it. The teller pushes the piece of paper back at me again. This time, I had failed to indicate the currency. I shake my head apologetically and then proceed to correct that. It was supposed to be GHS and not GHC!

Now I’m through with the teller. My bundle of cash is in my hands. What next? I walk past the queue and they all turn to look at me but I do not care, I simply move on towards the door. But there’s always a final surprise that lie in wait. This is how it happens; I would walk quietly to the exit and then realize rather too late that I had left my phone at the counter. The teller would signal to one of the impatient customers in the queue to alert me immediately he realizes I had left my phone. The customer would hiss at me from where she stands; loud enough for the whole hall to hear. The security guard at the door would tuck at my shirt just at the moment when I am about to exit the building. I would turn and step back into the banking hall. All eyes would be fixed on me and with my head bowed, I would walk quietly to the counter determined not to make any eye contact whatsoever.

And later, when I make for the door in what would be the final exit, there’s a feeling of severe heaviness all around me. I feel like a thousand eyes are following my every move. Suddenly I would walk out of the hall into the waiting arms of freedom; where the ATM belongs!