Checks and Un-Balances

"I guess this isn't all that unusual" the young bank teller at bank # 2 said. He was wearing a pullover sweater that seemed a bit vintage. A sweater like a boy in my high school might have worn. "Just last week there was a woman who closed a joint checking account ten years after her divorce," he said, wide-eyed as if he were at the zoo trying not ogle some exotic beast. I'm glad I'm not that woman. It took me half that long to realize I had to be the pro-active one. It was quite simple, really. A cashier's check drawn at each of the two banks where the joint checking accounts were held.

The teller at the first bank was more worldy. Middle-aged with crew-cut, shiny with product. A beautiful pink shirt and a co-ordinating tie. He explained how he was printing out the transaction. Proof that the amount of the cashier's check equalled the amount of the current balance. Well...minus this bank's 10.00 fee (!!!) for the cashier's check. "You have to be careful," he said.

"I have two cashier's checks for you," I said when I called The Someone. I said I'd be downtown today, but without a car, and he could meet me in Little Tokyo or at Union Station. Or somewhere after I got home tonight. He'd be in his office all day, he said. I did not offer to walk several blocks and deliver the checks to his office door. "I won't have a car" I said. "Union Station," I repeated, and he agreed.

When I got there, I decided to treat myself to dinner. A glass of red was set down in front of me just as he called. "I'm eating alone," I told him. "I don't want to walk away from my table. Can you park and come in?" He laughed. Then told me he'd send his secretary in. "I'm giving her a ride to the train," he said. Then there she was, breathless and rushed, but just as congenial as ever. I gave her the envelope. "What would he do without you?" I said.
"Can you believe I've worked for him for 26 years?" she said.
"Almost as long as I was married to him," I said. And then she mentioned her train. We hurriedly wished each other happy New Year.

I had a second glass of wine. A chocolate pot de creme. I won't eat the whipped cream, I said to myself, but somehow I did.

And as I walked through the station to catch my train, in front of me there was a father with two little girls. They held his hands, the younger girl blond and the older one dark-haired, looking up at him as if he was everything.

photo credit: the writer of the above check which I found somewhere on the Internet ages ago and laughed my self silly.