The Wiccan's Bank

The Wiccan’s Bank

Our local branch bank office is friendly enough in appearance to those customers who do business there. It sits in a quiet suburban plaza, nestled amidst restaurants and shops. Inside, the tellers and clerks diligently process banking transactions in a fashion that would please even old Ebeneezer Scrooge were it one of his offices. Everything runs at a pitch of high efficiency and at a level of cordiality that would make any manager smile. That is, until my wife and I walk in.

Then, as if by magic, the clerical personnel all quickly and quietly don those black conical hats that witches wear on Halloween. Their faces take on a crafty look and their eyes reflect the gleam that one would normally see in a great white shark before he bites into you. They eye us hungrily, each hoping to wait on us to see what impish mischief they can carry out and how irritated they can make us feel. The prize goes to the smiling clerk who gets us angry enough to say “close out all of our accounts.” They then all watch with absolute glee as we storm out of the office in a complete teller-induced rage. I know they get extra points if one of us raises our voice or takes on an exasperated and helpless expression.

On one occasion they ask us to go and get our dentist’s drivers license so we can cash the insurance check he has signed over to us. Another time, they refuses to cash a $70 check for us when our existing cash deposits on hand at the bank total several years of the teller’s salary. Why would they ever trust us for $70? We were obviously but peasants who could be told to “get in another line, please.” This, said with a near high pitched cackle of mirth from the teller. We had just made her day. Normally only government clerks get this kind of benign high from irritating customers while doing their jobs ever so efficiently.

I know that when we leave the office, the black conical hats will disappear and the charming and pleasant workers will magically reappear. They collectively sigh happily, as we leave in a huff, and settle in to wait for the next cherished appearance of “that couple.”

We too settle back, reassess our actions and then stop to visit the offices of another bank. They seem happy to see us and I don’t notice a single black, conical hat. We sign our selves up to do business with them, shake hands with the manager and leave for home. Unseen and unheard by us, a soft cackle echoes through that office. Then, a ruffle of black silk haberdashery is passed through the ranks. The staff collectively sighs in delighted anticipation, waiting for our return.

-30-
Joseph Xavier Martin