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Picture Credits:
Show Me the Money!
(In response to Autumn's Jobs challenge and Mardi G.'s Seuss-silly challenge)
Nan Jacobs ©2003
He inched toward my window, a wobbly old gent;
he made his way to me on legs slightly bent.
I knew what he wanted, I knew right away:
he wanted some money and he'd want it his way.
He gave me his check made out nicely for "Cash",
and asked for crisp ones, fives, and tens for his stash.
Then, oh! he refused me his picture ID,
which I needed to prove that he really was he.
"Do you think I know you?" I artlessly asked,
"D'you want me to hand out your money so fast?
What if your checkbook was lost yesterday,
and the finder came here? Do you think, should I pay?"
"I've banked here forever," he grumped, "and a day.
You simply must hand me my money, I say!
Call up the president and CEO, Ned.
He knows me, he'll say so," he crankily said.
"Now give me my money." But I shook my head.
"I need your ID, Sir, and Ned is quite dead."
"Oh yes, I'd forgotten," he said with a groan.
"I forgot and, oh, dear me, I ought to have known.
But, I'm older than Zeus; do I look like a crook?"
"Not at all, Sir," I said, "I just go by the book."
His face flushed dark red and he leaned in quite near.
"I've banked here since Zeus was in short pants, my dear.
I banked here before you were born, might I add,
before your big brother, your mother, your dad!"
Each word made more noise than the one before it,
then he dropped to the floor and he pitched quite a snit.
I peered over the counter to find him alive,
and waited long minutes--it must have been five.
He ranted some more and he raved this-n-that,
I heard him cry, "Mommy!" and "You dirty rat!"
At last he lay still, so I ventured to say,
"Please, Sir, will you show me some ID today?"
He creaked to his feet with a woebegone sigh.
He said, "Here's my license," and straightened his tie.
I counted his cash, all crisp tens, fives and ones,
while mournfully mumbling, "Oh, what have I done?
I've startled the patrons; this man blew his lid;
and all to be sure he received his own quid."
He gathered his winnings and lurched to the door;
called over his shoulder, "I'll be back for more!"
I'm glad that he said so, I'm glad he warned me;
The next time I'll know him without his ID!
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Bank tellers learn quickly not only how simple it is to commit bank fraud and that crooks come in all moods, genders, and ages, but also that crooks are often friendly strangers. "Not all strangers are crooks, but all crooks are strangers." is the infamous advice given to tellers, which explains why so many frontline bank representatives politely request identification, particularly those who you've never seen before, either (an amazing coincidence? I think not.). Hopefully you comply in an understanding (preferably grateful!) manner, as the bank employee is merely protecting your money. It's not as though they want to spend an afternoon in court identifying the passer of bad checks, you know.
However, tellers also soon discover that long-time bank customers can be extremely exacting regarding the denominations of their cash, and that most of these folks were given their first loan by a "Ned"--for whom these customers probably babysat or, indeed, whose granny they may well have dated. OY.
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