This morning I went to a bank to get a roll of quarters. I went to the counter, and said, "I need a roll of quarters."
"Do you have an account?"
"Then we'll need to see an ID."
Wait a minute, I thought to myself, I need an ID so I can get quarters?
"Okay," I said, taken aback - like a dutiful drone.
So I gave her my ID. She looked at it, then looked skeptically at the ten dollar bill I put on the counter, and proceeded to spend literally two minutes typing away on her keyboard.
I'm thinking, just what the hell can she be looking at on her screen, and what the hell does she have to type for 2 minutes, and why the hell should I have to tolerate this bullshit?
Finally, her printer spit out a piece of paper. She looked at it, looked at me skeptically again, and then showed the paper to her supervisor, who came over and also closely scrutinized, first my ten dollar bill, and then me. (I should add here that I have no criminal record whatsoever.)
At last she whispered something to the teller, who finally passed over the contraband - I mean roll of quarters - and I sort of furtively slunk off to my get-away car, feeling pretty mean now, pretty bad you might say - like Machine Gun Kelley.
Does this seem as weird to anyone else as it seems to me? It's like we're all criminals now, trying to prove our innocence.
Copyright 2018, Brent Hightower
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