GENE THERAPY
Gene Collier finds that courtesy and civility are both found alive — at the bank.
At the bank, they’re under some kind of corporate directive to act as if they’re interested in me. I appreciate the concept but the execution can be a little annoying. It’s not their fault, the nice people in the bank. How would you like to be told, by your boss, that the person with whom you’re compelled to facilitate the very simplest of financial transactions is in fact a fascinating individual who deserves not only your courtesy and attention, but your feigned interest?
“Gene, how is your day going?”
I suppose OK, Megan, but I haven’t really analyzed it yet.
Of course, I wouldn’t say that to Megan. She’s too sweet. But that’s what is in my head and it’s, as I said, a little annoying. So Megan, it’s probably not you; it’s me. But you’re an accessory.
“Any big plans for the weekend, Gene?”
None of your business, Megan; I’d like to get it started, so could we, you know, just execute this?
That would be a terrible thing to say to Megan, so I just said, “Uh, no, how ’bout you?”
Do you see this, Megan? Now you’ve got me doing it. Now you’ve got me acting as if I’m interested in you! And I don’t even work here.
Thisis a pity, really. Megan’s just doing her job to the best of its requirements, and I’m just cranky enough to letit bother me for reasons Megan would have no earthly interestin no matter how sincere she can appear to be. But sometimes, Megan ...
“Is it still hot out there?” Well as you can see if you’d look through those floor-to-ceiling windows just to your right, the sun is beating down on the parking lot and it’s 3 p.m. It’s August. I’ll grant you the sun might not be at its highest point in the sky right now but the Earth has had about three hours to heat up since the sun reached that point, so yes, it’s still hot out there.
Of course I’d never say that.
I’d say, “Oh yeah,” and hope that sounded conclusive.
Again I feel the stab of guilt because the nice people in the bank are just trying to be civil and helpful, which were, should you fail to recognize them, two comforting staples of American culture before all the various forces that drove us to our isolation took root.
“We are now, and have been in the last 50 years, plunging deeper and deeper into individualism of a very malignant sort,” Harvard political scientist Robert Putnam told the New Yorker’s Robin Wright just this week. “We are much more isolated in ways — culturally, politically, economically and socially — than we have been in 120 years. The whole idea that ‘We’re all in this together’ is now out of fashion. We’d like to be connected, but we’re not.”
In an era when Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and other social media platforms have not only invaded the culture but in many ways have supplanted it, we should welcome friendly public conversation even when it’s in the form of basic banter spawned in the customer service chapter of some corporate handbook.
Still, there’s one Megan question that might one day result in a lapse of decorum on my part. In fact, Megan, you might want to bookmark this column to present as evidence, should litigation ensue.
The Post-Gazette once wrote me an expense check for $6.48 because, obviously, I know how to live on the road. I mean I will close your Applebee’s, OK?
A day later, I’m driving around on an errands run with a check for $6.48 in my pocket and, as I pass the bank, I wonder how pathetic it would be to go in there to cash a check for $6.48. I decided it’s pretty pathetic. Young people don’t even go into banks anymore. It’s only people like me lined up between the ropes in there. Sad.
Yet I relent. I have no cash. I want to get some cash in case I want to get some Doritos. I’m going in.
I get Megan. “Gene, how is your day going?”
Here, Megan; this is how my day is going. I walked into a bank to cash a check for 6 dollars and 48 cents.
Megan looks at my check as though it says $648,000. I present two forms of identification. I never have to do this with a deposit, I think sardonically. Can you think sardonically? Mental note to ask Megan.
Megan looks at the check for $6.48, looks at me, taps her keyboard, looks at my IDs, taps her keyboard, looks again at my check for $6.48, appears satisfied, taps her calculator, and says, finally, “Now Gene, do you want this any special way?”
I smile and resist biting any part of my face, but in my head, it’s going something like this:
Yes! Yes I would!
Two 1s.
Two 2s.
A quarter.
A dime.
Two buffalo head nickels. And three pennies, and Megan, Megan, when you slide those coins toward me ... I’d like them all tails up because THAT’S MY SPECIAL WAY!