a quick stop by the bank

Yesterday I went to the bank to get a cashier's check. I was woefully unprepared: I naively thought I'd be able to access my money armed only with my checkbook. Since the money was mine, I'd be able to use it, right? Ah, how young and innocent I was. While standing in line, I was instructed to have my Special Bank ID Card on the ready. As soon as I got to a teller, I should hurriedly swipe my Special Bank ID Card, which would enable both of us to pretend the other was inanimate and reduce actual human interaction. Unfortunately, I didn't have my Special Bank ID Card, which was my first mistake. I should have recognized the warning and quietly exited without further embarrassment. Uninitiated as I was, however, I ignorantly stayed in line and eventually reached a teller, who seemed annoyed that I didn't have my Special Bank ID Card - at least, that was my impression of her face through the 2-inch-thick bullet-proof plate glass that made her face blurry and her heavily-accented, murmured words indistinguishable. Throughout our conversation, I think I asked her to repeat every statement she made at least twice, and I stood on my tiptoes and raised my voice to make sure she (and by default, everyone else) could hear me, adding to the drama of the moment.

Once we had established that I didn't have my Special Bank ID Card, I had given her my full name, social security number, date of birth, and current address, she asked what I wanted. I told her I wanted a cashier's check. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "How are you going to pay for that?" Evidently the obvious answer (with the money in my bank account?) wasn't going to fly. So after some pondering, I held up my checkbook and hopefully said, "with a check?" The teller looked disapproving, but didn't say anything, so I thought perhaps I might get my money after all. I wrote out a check to myself and slid it through the crack in the glass apparently designed for that purpose. I was glad that I had asked for a cashier's check and not cash, since it would have been a little painful to take one bill at a time through the crack. The teller took my check and asked me to swipe my Special Bank ID Card. Either she had forgotten the earlier conversation or she was hoping that I had just been kidding about my lack of a Special Bank ID Card. Unfortunately, I hadn't. Then she asked for my driver's license, which I pleasantly shoved through the crack (it's a little thicker than a piece of paper, so it was more difficult). Then she asked for a birth certificate or passport. I was so startled by this request that I glanced through my purse as though hoping my passport would appear in some hidden compartment (honestly, who carries around a passport or birth certificate when they're going to faculty meetings held in an unsafe neighborhood in a car that may decide to retire peacefully - or not peacefully - at any moment? I mean, really.). When I regretfully informed the teller that I didn't have a passport or birth certificate with me, she slid my check and driver's license back through the crack (one at a time - I suppose that they both wouldn't have fit at the same time) and said, "Looks like you'll have to come back another day." Apparently my full name, checking account number, social, birthdate, address, and driver's license wasn't enough for me to get a little ole cashier's check. Forget the risk of being mugged - I better start carrying my passport around on the off chance that I'll need to stop by the bank. At least my money's safe. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get to it, but it's safe.