The Bank Clerk was ready. Seated, in accordance with the Bank’s bible, ‘The Behaviour Manual’ in an upright but relaxed position. Suit immaculate and smile set. Ready.
“Next customer to position 9 please”.
The Old Lady shuffled to the window, ferreting inside a bag of old leather, only marginally less worn than she herself. The Bank Clerk watched her, paying full attention to the customer just as he had been trained. She finally looked up, lips quivering, brows raised slightly as she attempted a smile. Dropping her eyes to the counter before her, she pushed the life blood pension book through the slot just as she had done a thousand times. “What do you want me to do with this grannie?” said the Bank Clerk amiably, articulating perfectly to ensure clarity of expression. The Old Lady, surprised, raised her gaze again and muttered the obvious, ‘can I have my pension money please?’ The Bank Clerk paused to give the appearance of considering the request, then issued a carefully considered response, perfectly in line with bank policy, ‘No you cannot. Now fuck off before I have you thrown out into the street’.
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