Monday, December 06, 2004
Wheel Up Banking
I am someone who enjoys rather much my solitude, and who grew up a fairly shy child in many ways. I've outgrown a lot of that, but I hadn't when I started banking, so I have a lot of happy associations with the ATM. I bank hardly any other way.
This is my bank. The ATM lane is on the far right of the picture, the lane with the gray van at the back.
When I go to the ATM I try to make sure I'm not the guy at the front of the line who decides he has to take the envelope, find a pen, get together his checks, find another pen that actually works, sign the checks, total the checks, write the total on the envelope, place the checks in the envelope, and then roll down the window to start banking while fifty other people line up behind him and wonder if the machine is broken or if he choked on a Necco wafer.
So I pull off to the side and get all the pre-bank banking done. So here I am, parked, doing my pre-bank banking done. You can see that the cars are going through the line, because I add slowly or have misplaced my pencap. Notice how the SUV and the pickup have moved through.
As I shook my head at my slowness, this lady in a motorized wheelchair flew around the corner of the parking lot (from heaven knows where), went right past my car, and got in line for one of the teller windows!
I couldn't understand where she had come from. Why didn't she go inside the bank? Does she realize her motorized wheelchair isn't really a car? I could hardly believe it.
But she made it to the head of the line:
I imagined her wheeling down the main road out of town, posted speed limit 35 mph, just holding up traffic as she cruised down the road. I thought, though, that perhaps people didn't really have such delusions about their pedestrian vehicles.
Then I saw this guy on his chopper bike.
He was in the left turn lane turning off the main road out of town, posted speed limit 35 mph, and he held up the traffic as he pedalled down the road. I wonder if he was the bank lady's son.
Maybe I should give the guy credit, though. He's got to be the only 30-year old male who can claim to have done something cool with his sister's hand-me-down banana-seat bike. Just look at him, eyes cooly surveying the intersection, arms firmly embracing the wind, legs stoutly gripping the pavement. The pride oozes out of his every greasy pore.
This is my bank. The ATM lane is on the far right of the picture, the lane with the gray van at the back.
When I go to the ATM I try to make sure I'm not the guy at the front of the line who decides he has to take the envelope, find a pen, get together his checks, find another pen that actually works, sign the checks, total the checks, write the total on the envelope, place the checks in the envelope, and then roll down the window to start banking while fifty other people line up behind him and wonder if the machine is broken or if he choked on a Necco wafer.
So I pull off to the side and get all the pre-bank banking done. So here I am, parked, doing my pre-bank banking done. You can see that the cars are going through the line, because I add slowly or have misplaced my pencap. Notice how the SUV and the pickup have moved through.
As I shook my head at my slowness, this lady in a motorized wheelchair flew around the corner of the parking lot (from heaven knows where), went right past my car, and got in line for one of the teller windows!
I couldn't understand where she had come from. Why didn't she go inside the bank? Does she realize her motorized wheelchair isn't really a car? I could hardly believe it.
But she made it to the head of the line:
I imagined her wheeling down the main road out of town, posted speed limit 35 mph, just holding up traffic as she cruised down the road. I thought, though, that perhaps people didn't really have such delusions about their pedestrian vehicles.
Then I saw this guy on his chopper bike.
He was in the left turn lane turning off the main road out of town, posted speed limit 35 mph, and he held up the traffic as he pedalled down the road. I wonder if he was the bank lady's son.
Maybe I should give the guy credit, though. He's got to be the only 30-year old male who can claim to have done something cool with his sister's hand-me-down banana-seat bike. Just look at him, eyes cooly surveying the intersection, arms firmly embracing the wind, legs stoutly gripping the pavement. The pride oozes out of his every greasy pore.
