Coworker Cantankery

So at this point we’ve covered customer service and how no one should be subjected to offering it. I am now here to tell you that the same jobs forcing people to smile at customers who have lost their freaking minds are also forcing good people of the world to work alongside complete nightmares. 

In support of this statement, I offer you the following:

First, someone has always worked there for 500 years before you, so by the time the vacation calendar gets to you they have picked it over like roadside vultures, leaving you only the most exciting options, like random Thursdays in March. You never get any good days because CHERYL always gets Thanksgiving week and KAREN always gets Christmas and KEVIN always gets the 4^th of July.  

But who can blame them. And honestly, you have more nefarious problems in the world of co-workers. I’m referring of course to the incredibly awful people one is sometimes forced to work with who only grow exponentially more awful when given power. Listen, your friendly neighborhood bank tellers may look innocuous but trust me, the power dynamics behind the teller line are not for the faint of heart. I imagine this applies equally to other lines of work, but gotta stick with what I (used to) know.

My own personal nemesis, we’ll call her Carol, was an infamous villain and also my manager. An unfortunate situation to say the least.

Carol would lurk around with her hunched posture and hawkish nose until she caught some of her less favorite employees (a category in which I unwillingly excelled) doing anything she disapproved of. These things included:

1.     Us quietly suggesting to customers that they NOT do whatever thing she had just suggested they do. We were all in this fairly awkward position a few times a week because Carol had an alarming knack for having no idea what she was talking about, coupled with the habit of issuing wildly inaccurate statements with great authority.

2.     Us rolling our eyes when Carol told us for the 50^th time that SHE HAD BEEN A TELLER FOR EXACTLY ONE DAY AND WAS SO GOOD THAT THEY PROMOTED HER TO MANAGER SO YES SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE IS TALKING ABOUT.

Okay sorry CAROL. I will just tell that customer that they should indeed write their pin number in permanent marker on the back of their debit card, you batty old witch.

Carol once pulled me into her office to ask why I was gaining weight and not doing my makeup. I informed her that I’d taken to drinking many calorie-packed rum and cokes after work these days, and that I had in fact never done my makeup and likely never would.

It would appear that this was not a believable enough explanation because after a long pause, she narrowed her eyes over that hawkish nose and asked me in a lowered voice if I was actually pregnant.

Fuckin Carol.

Then there are co-workers like Sharon. Sharon took up smoking out of spite after no one addressed her complaint that people who smoked got more breaks. When Sharon wasn’t out enjoying straight shots of poison to the lungs, you could generally find her in the lobby, running her hands through the curly chest hair poking out of the faded plaid button-up of her much older husband, who spent his free time in retirement visiting her at the bank. Perhaps this would have been mildly (and I do mean mildly) less offensive if we had not argued on more than one occasion over her stating that she didn’t have anything against gay people, she just didn’t want their love life in her face. Now isn’t that just the curly old chest hairs of the pot calling the gay kettle black.

So, ya know, just more to ponder with the intermittent introduction of the idea that ditching life behind the teller line in favor of six years of long nights in the lab was basically the-worst-decision-ever. Upon recall of Carol's shadowy form, I generally consider the entire thing to be at least a toss up. 

The Nostalgia Games

Sometimes I get into this rut where I play the “why are some of my life decisions the worst” game. It’s a pretty good time. Perhaps you’re familiar with it.

I'm not trying to brag or anything but I was a top player throughout my entire graduate school career, having spent approximately 98.2% of graduate school kvetching about my decision to go to graduate school. 

Furrowing my brows endlessly over dreamy pre-grad days of work being over when I left the building at five o'clock.
Pining over how wonderful it was to go on vacation and then come back NOT to a pile of work, because work didn't pile up when I left my bank teller job, and neither did e-mails. I REPEAT: THERE ARE NO UNANSWERED EMAILS WHEN YOU COME BACK TO YOUR BANK TELLER JOB. 

As I remember, it was pure, unadulterated bliss. 

 

But that's how the “why are some of my life decisions the worst” game works. Listen up, people: Nostalgia = PUBLIC ENEMY #1.

 
It's good to take a step back when kvetching to remember that you were probably kvetching throughout previous life decisions. too, as we humans are wont to do. Upon reading further you will witness the kvetches (is that a word? It is now) of this previously blissful life I've sketched out above.

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Being a bank teller = extreme boredom on Thursday afternoons when no one came to the bank and the clock neveeeerrrrr reached 5 and even though there is literally nothing to do, you are NOT allowed to leave.

It also = every teller except yourself calling in sick on the first Friday of the month, a day also known to every boomer on the planet as lets-go-to-the-MF-BANK day. 
This actually happened once. Fastest but most hungry day of my life.

But the overarching lesson of time served as a bank teller =  customer service is some bullshit. 

May the metaphysical hand of god strike me down every single time I neglect to address this fact when barreling down the rabbit hole of nostalgia.

In support of this claim, I offer you the following:

1.     The guy who actually filed a lawsuit against the bank branch I was working in during undergrad, in which he legitimately requested that an exorcism be performed within our building. This of course did not go far within the legal workings of Bonneville County, but losing his exorcism bid did not deter him from continuing to bank with us. He simply chose to do his business solely through the drive-through after that, and staunchly refused to look at or speak to us the entire time.

a.     Wait, no, he did look at me once. I was keying in his deposit when he turned his head slowly toward the window. Once it had swiveled enough to appropriately allow his beady eyes to rest upon me, he proceeded to snort like a pig into the microphone until I pushed the drawer back out with his receipt. Charming. 

2.     The guy who repeatedly scream-asked me if I enjoyed stealing money from old people after he discovered that $50 from his mothers account had been turned over to the state like a year previously, after five years of account inactivity.

a.     Why yes, sir, it’s one of my most treasured past times. Anything else I can do for you today?

3.     The woman who promptly strode to my manager’s office to complain that I was “loudly bragging about my drunken behavior” after she overheard me telling a fellow co-worker that I had tried a blue tarantula margarita the previous Saturday.

a.     I was soundly reprimanded for this. 

4.     The incredibly agitated man demanding to know why his account was in the negative, but who did not know his account number and stoutly refused to give me any identifying information so that I could locate said account, because he was convinced I would then try to steal his identity.

a.    It appeared to be lost on him that if I was in the identity-stealin’ mood, I would be much more inclined to steal the identity of someone with positive account balances. #justsayin

5.     The woman who came barreling up to my window in extreme panic because the ATM had refused to give her any money. Upon looking up her account I was able to inform her that the ATM could not dispense money from an account that was approximately ten thousand dollars in the negative. The outrageous state of her account was the result of a previously deposited $9000 being removed due to the fact that it was someone else’s $9000 tax refund.

a.     Rather than questioning her suddenly inflated balance, it appeared she had instead made a series of large cash withdrawals before the mistake was discovered, thus leaving a devastatingly negative balance when the deposit was reversed.

b.     As I began to quietly explain this to her she simply backed away from my window while screaming hysterically, “I AM NOT A THIEF GODDAMMIT”, as an entire lobby of people stared at me like I was kicking a dog.

6.     The woman who lectured me sharply for several minutes on the importance of maintaining a professional appearance at work, while several people waited in line behind her, because she did not like what I was wearing.

a.      I was wearing the company-approved t-shirt all employees were given to wear on Fridays.  

7.     The guy I knew from high school who was mad at me about something and took his revenge by telling my manager that I had given all of his account information to his ex-girlfriend.

a.     The best part about this is that I met his ex-girlfriend a total of one time when she was my cashier at Target. I probably told her I thought he was an idiot, but trust me, girl did not need confirmation from me that all of his assets were equally unimpressive.

8.     The savage children in the drive-through savagely demanding tootsie rolls. Some of them would just stare at me with the intensity of an axe murderer throughout the entire transaction. This was unnerving, but since I am also given to staring like that at people who have food that I want, I was generally tolerant. However, those screaming ones with the bulging eyes that would sometimes actually hang their weird little bodies out of the car windows were not getting tootsie rolls from yours truly. This was met with great disapproval from the people who had birthed or otherwise parented those weird little bodies, but I remained steadfast.

a.      I realize I could think differently of this if I ever have a little weirdo of my own, but we’ll just cross that weird little bridge if it’s ever built.