Face to face with a feisty bank cashier today. Apparently I didn't put my signature on the right spot (which was funny, because I have always signed on the same spot), and she handed my slip back. I didn't quite catch what she said, because there was this thick glass between us (the ingenuous invention that's supposed to stall crime). Before I knew it, she started yelling at me, saying all kinds of things that didn't meet my sense.
My guess:
- early post-menopausal attack?
- has just put on weight?
- stolen husband?
- stuck career? (I'm thinking that sitting in a small cubicle, behind a glass for ten hours a day has its challenges. And for someone to realise that that's all she's capable of doing, plus the post-menopause thing, weight issue, and stolen husband...)
I'm being mean. And sarcastic. I don't care. I'm not the one stuck in a diminutive cubicle for the rest of my life...(*cackles*)
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