A Day in the Bank

Yes. There was a girl.

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A few days ago, I had to visit the SBI office in my city to report a minor bug in my message alert facility. Given the triviality of the issue, I thought dressing up would be a bit too much. So I just slapped my face with water and touched my hair a bit. I haven’t had a shave for two months, and I looked like a person you would rather stay away from on the subways. I wore the same short pants and shirt I was wearing a few weeks ago when I ran into Doctor. If you really want to know, I wasn’t somebody a girl would masturbate to. 

“You know what, sometimes I wonder if you’re adopted. “Said my mother, who never leaves the door without wearing eyeliners and lipsticks and Shehnaz Hussain 24 Carat Gold Facial Kit. 

I went in, and to my surprise, there were a few hot girls waiting in the chairs. Tight black clothes in the month of July – they must have been aliens for pulling off this – and no hint of sweat. They kept moving their head around aimlessly, presumably bored with the unending wait. Their eyes would pass through me as if I was invisible. Sometimes I wonder if girls have an auto-reject button inside their brains. They spot you and then totally ignore your existence. I touched my beard – it felt no different than pubic hair – and wondered if I had made a mistake. 

I went ahead towards the counter and oh my God! There she was, A Goddess in glasses! Parrot green suit, parrot green specs, and a face made out of snowflakes. She was a girl you see in movies, beautiful and intelligent and oh my God. I started to sweat profusely. I felt like running back. How I wished I had been to a salon before dropping here! 

I moved back a few steps and turned around. I cleared my throat and whispered to myself, 

“Ahhmm..Excuse me miss. ”

No. That’s too cocky.

“Ahhmm..Mam. ”

Are you going to ask her a calculus doubt? 

“Ahhmm…”

Stop coughing for Santa’s sake. 
“Hey listen. ”

She’s not your clingy ex.

“Ummm..”

Confused moron.

“Uh. ”

Dumb fuck.

“Argghh. ”

Goon.

“Fuck. ”

Molester.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll just go and speak whatever comes out of my mouth. ”

That’s always landed you in trouble. 

I switched off the other-me and turned back to walk upto her. I stopped at a glass door and pretending to be a curious art lover who just hit upon a masterpiece, started checking my hair. As already mentioned, I was invisible to the girls. As I was fixing my hair, trying to give those frail strands artificial erections, I saw two ugly eyes staring at me through the glass door. 

“What the fuck! “I flinched. A short round face, pencil mustaches and tired sunken eyes. He looked like someone with a terminal disease – so like myself, only older by a thousand years. I glared back at him for a good 30 seconds and then I looked above at the small plate on the door. 

Manager – it said. 

I slid away like Tom the cat. 

I went to the angel at the counter, who had defied the concepts of blackheads, pimples and dark circles long ago, and who was waiting just for me. She would have been 5 years older at most, and I was sure that that wasn’t much of an age gap to start a family together. You see, when girls say, “Boys just care about sex ” they are wrong. They have been with wrong guys all the time. If you go out with me, I will treat you with all due respect, like those polite males in Ekta Kapoor serials. We could have sex – umm, make love – every Holi, blitzed out by Bhaang, with the most romantic chartbusters in the background, as a result of a conspiracy planned by your nemesis or something. Wait, getting back to the subject, there she was and there I was, a transparent yet impermeable glass between us, and how amazing she looked… All those stupid ions in my body started having their own Hedron Collider experiments. 

“Yes? “She said. 

Will you marry me? – I almost blurted out, but I told myself to maybe start with the basics first. How about a

“I am facing difficulties with my registered number. Could you help me? ”

Wow! That was easy peasy. 

“Write an application. Get a xerox copy of your id proof. “She said. So romantic! I imagined our babies playing with debit cards and singing SBI theme songs in their cribs. So nice! Hunky dory. 

Hmmm. I had written applications before. But in all those applications, I was either terribly sick or had to attend my relatives’ marriage ceremony. Why don’t they ever teach you the actual applications you’ll need to write?

I googled and Google helped me without a hiccup. I wrote the application as if I was designing my tombstone epitaph, making swirly Ys and all, and it took me half an hour to write it full. I was sure she’d be impressed – I had devoted my entire artistic experience to this boring job, so it was only fair of me to assume she would get my handwriting xeroxed and save it in her secret album. Boy, was I confident? 

I erected my hair again.

And strutted upto her with full confidence.

She saw my application and yawned. She covered her mouth with her slender porcelain fingers and said,

“Get it signed by the manager. ”
“The who? “I asked, just to make sure I heard it right.
“The manager. There. “She pointed to the office I had found my older version in. Damn.

The manager had a good look at me once I went in. He interviewed me like Chanakya IAS academy does to UPSCE aspirants. And then he asked me to go fill the Net Banking form. 

All in all, it took about 3 hours. By the time I got the kit from the gorgeous lady, I was a miserable heap of sweat, not sure anymore if she’d still go out with me. 

2 thoughts on “A Day in the Bank

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