Bank Columbo.
written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this postI was at the bank during my lunch hour to get cash for Nicaragua. I'd reserved crisp bills last week because the money changers on the street in Nicarauga -- yes, that's how we exchange our money -- don't like crumpled or written on bills.
I opened my checkbook and a bunch of stuff fell out. Barely any check blanks left. No deposit slips. Yet this is my "checkbook."
How did all of this crap get in here, I thought, trying to shuffle through and find the checks I was there to cash. The teller had no expression, which was nice, because I felt stupid.
I feel stupid a lot.
Movie receipt from National Treasure. Check.
Grocery list from two months ago. Check.
Sketch of the loud, bald guy at the coffee shop. Check.
Receipt for gas with car wash tacked on that I forgot to use. Check.
A small slip of paper with a phone number -- for who knows who -- written on it in green pen. Check.
Three paper clips. Check.
One bobby pin. Check.
Candy bar wrapper -- pre South Beach Diet. Check.
A piece of cruddy, yet unchewed, gum. Check.
Checks. Check.
My checkbook is like my purse: a huge dump. When my cell phone rings, I about drive off of the road trying to find it in a purse filled with a couple of books I'm in the midst of reading, a set of sketching pens, a notebook, two kinds of chapstick (never know when you want mint or just plain), and just....stuff. Junk.
A pack mule wouldn't carry that much stuff around.
"Sorry," I said, pulling out the rumpled checks and handing them to the teller. I felt like Columbo, and would have tried to give my checkbook a pat down if it had pockets. "A little disorganized..."
Yes, I felt bad about my lack of put-togetheredness...until I heard a raspy smoker's cough and turned around and saw the woman behind me. She was just shy of 50, I'm guessing. Hair like John the Baptist. She had on a huge, sloppy green sweatshirt. And -- bonus -- she was wearing flannel pajama pants. Blue plaid, with yellow ducks.
At the bank.
Car wreck, I thought, though I smiled at her politely. I didn't want to arouse the wrath of all those ducks.
Why would a very grown woman wear pajama pants to the bank, of all places? Pajama pants are meant for wearing to bed.
At least I keep my mess to my "checkbook" and don't parade around like a flannelized Ducks Unlimited sandwich board.
At least I have that.
Labels: fashion, my life, women
Copyright (c) Julie R. Neidlinger 1/22/2008 11:36:00 PM
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4 Comments:
There is a connection here to your post "About That Sharp-Dressed Man ..." The pajamas-as-street wear has filtered down from the college campuses all the way to the middle schools. It would appear that it has also filtered upward.
I have never understood people who would walk out of their house looking like the community bag lady or bum. They have become so pervasive in our society that we tend not to notice any longer. I have students who come to school dressed in clothing that I would not wear to change the oil in my car (but that's another post). I guess I have become an anachronism.
As for your disorganization, well, you could do far worse. You could be an extreme anal-retentive personality (moi).
By 
Rey, at
23/1/08 04:26
You are spot on about the way people dress. I am expected to by my employer to dress conservatively. I do. This concept seems to get thrown out the window however if you are a female. I work in an office that is mostly women. They dress anyway they want. Mostly large flowing types of garments that remind me very much of pajamas. Just today a co-worker showed up this morning in high heels and a flowing lepard print outfit. I could barley keep a straight face!
By 
, at
23/1/08 10:05
I can certainly understand that. As a teacher I constantly hear from my colleagues how little respect we receive. Yet, so many of them refuse to dress professionally. In some cases it's hard to differentiate the teachers from the students. It's a losing battle...
By Rey, at
23/1/08 11:56
Checkbooks are just such a handy place to tuck things away. And it's fun to find them later. But perhaps in private.
By girlfriday, at
23/1/08 22:17
