Can't See the Halo For the Tubes

Just when I thought I'd earned enough good karma to shed the persona of Public Enemy #1 (and counting), I discovered that my bank personnel still can't see the halo floating above my lovely lady-mullet as I sit in T-Hoe at the drive-thru. Yep. Those tellers can't see the halo for the tubes. There are only three lanes. Peering through their (most likely bulletproof glass) window, past the pneumatic hardware, they ASSume Val is bent on a new vice. 

 

Those tellers! They must have SO MUCH TIME, while making people wait, to flesh out rollicking scenarios for each customer. Even angelic Val, who has proven to them that she is NOT a counterfeit-check-depositor, and has every right to withdraw her own money that has been chilling in checking for years, regardless of 10-day-holds on lesser-amount cashier's checks!

The Pony was with me Wednesday, as I pulled up to take the canister and send in my withdrawal slip. It wasn't a big amount, just some weekly spending money. I always write a little note at the bottom, requesting the bills I desire. I'm doing them a favor, really. They don't have to ask, and they don't have to count out ones and fives and tens to give me a variety.

The amount I withdrew was $140. My note said: one hundred, two twenties, please. I'm pretty sure each one of you could read that, and understand the bills I wanted sent back through the tube. ONE hundred, and TWO twenties. It's not rocket science. It's not even world geography!

The car in the lane next to me was being served. I sent in my canister, and chatted with The Pony. Usually the teller will say, "I'll be with you in a minute," or "I'm working on it." But this time, nobody greeted me. No big deal. I don't go to the bank to make small talk.

After about five minutes, I heard the tube humming. I knew my canister was on its way. When it appeared, I flipped open the new style side hatch that likes to pinch me, and took out my money. My first thought as I looked through the clear plastic was, "Not even an envelope this time!" I could clearly see the money. The teller spoke: 

 

"Thank you! Have a nice week!"

"Okay. You too!"

I pulled my money out of the canister, but let it lay on my lap. By lap, I mean my stomach, balanced up against the steering wheel.

"PONY! Look at that! This is NOT mine!" 

 

There was a bundle of bills, an inch thick, fastened with a paper 'belt' in the middle. I was just about to tell the teller that she had given me someone else's money when The Pony spoke up:

"WOW! That's a lot of ONES!"

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

Instead of giving me a hundred-dollar bill, that teller had sent out 100 ONE-DOLLAR BILLS! 

I pushed the CALL button. 

"Excuse me. I thought I wrote that I wanted one HUNDRED-DOLLAR bill, and two twenties."

"Oh! [tee hee] I'm sorry! I thought you wanted it in ones! [tee hee] Send it back in, and I'll send you a big bill."

That's all well and good, but now the cars around me knew my business! I sent it back, and she tubed out the hundo. The Pony was giggling. I wheeled T-Hoe around and down the back alley.

"Seriously. Do I LOOK like the kind of person who's headed to a strip club to make it rain?"

The Pony did not answer. He might be in cahoots with those tellers.