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After seminar, I headed over to Human Resources. Those fuckers called me down to their office for the God knows how many time. Apparently, I once again failed to properly fill out the direct deposit application. If I knew just how much trouble it would cause, I would have never have switched banks. The service at my old bank was more than satisfactory and they never overcharged for any transaction. Really, there was no reason to switch banks.. Well, that is, there was a reason, but it was no a good one.
Her name was Julie and we met at a happy hour down at Jimmy’s Tavern down on Thompson Street. She was just sitting there looking all blond and official with the smell of corporate America lingering around her stuffy black business suite. She looked good. These kind of women don’t find their way to these kind of joints. We usually recruit from the bottom of the barrel.
“So excuse the cliché, but what is a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Why, what is wrong with this place?” she asked.
“What’s wrong? What can I tell you? Nothing and everything. It is just that we usually don’t get such pretty girls around here.”
“A friend of mine from the bank told me about this place. He said they have good cheap drinks, a good atmosphere and old time rock and roll. He did however warn me about the kind of characters that hang out around this place. Would you happen to be one of those characters”
“Well, I am not sure if I am one of those characters. But like most people, I am a character. Know what I mean?”
“Not really, but whatever.” She smiled.
She was a descent type for such an attractive woman. I never really had the chance to associate with one of these types. That of course was with the exception of those busty blond sorority girls that I always encountered in my introduction to American literature class. After I bought her a couple of drinks I tried to hit her up for her home telephone number or her cellular but she played hard to get.
“Sorry John, but I don’t give my number away to men that I meet in bars, especially not a bar like this one.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with this bar?” I asked.
“Nothing and everything, you know.” She laughed.
Eventually, she gave me her business card and walked out of the place. I watched her ass wiggle across that tight business skirt along that arousing foxtrot that took place at the edge of those shiny long legs. I was not the only one.
I slowly read the fine print that read:
Julie A. Smith
Senior Loan Officer
Downtown Branch
The next day, I opened a bank account at the downtown branch. Julie was no where in sight. I found several excuses to return to the bank. I came in for a debit card. I made a few deposits. I made a few withdrawals. Julie was nowhere in sight.
A few days later, I discovered that Julie had a boyfriend named Steve. He was the assistant bank manager.
By this point it was too late to go back to my old bank and that dusty old lady that served as my personal account representative.
So there I stood in the Human Resources office, reapplying once again for a direct deposit of my university salary. This time, I asked the lady at the counter to guide me through the process.
This whole bank account story was just another example of bad judgment. But what could a man do? None of us could resist. As I said before, I never really had the chance to associate with this kind of a woman.
That of course, with the exception of those busy blond sorority girls that always managed to get a B+ better in my Introduction to American Literature courses.