My Life as a Banker

I paid my way through college working as a banker—not the stand behind the counter type, more like the sit at a glorified adding machine getting paper cuts in the middle of the night under the watchful eyes of the evil overlords banker. It was by all rights an easy job, if you didn’t mind wearing a tie and sporting shiny shoes, but for those of us whose tastes gravitate toward the more bohemian, it could prove to be sort of tricky.

I worked in the Proof Department of First Security Bank, the place where all of the check deposits go after the branches close. It was my job to make sure all of the days deposits added up. It was pretty mindless since the machine did all the work. I also handed out work, sent out correction notices and answered phones. I would say: “Proof, this is Scott.” The caller on the other end would occasionally think I was saying “Poof! This is Scott!” I actually did so on a couple of occasions just to break up the monotony.

We had quite a variety of people there. Take Helen—she was in charge of the whole floor on the swing shift. She was a no-nonsense sort of woman, who rarely cracked a smile. Helen didn’t like my making fun of the insipid Numbers Skills Class we were required to take for a week. She did not like one bit that I would crank Dan Fogelberg on my boom box—and she certainly did not like the White Russians I made from the milk machine in the cafeteria and Kahlua from across the street.

Trish and Jean did their best to run our zoo of a department which included a body builder, a scab picker, and the reincarnation of Judy Garland. Carolyn and Billie sat at the front desk and laughed at my stupid antics—but Kevin was my real partner in crime. On Fridays, we’d bring our guitars to play on break. Kevin was much better than I was. His “Landslide” was sublime and together we did a pretty sweet version of Cat Stevens’ “Father and Son.” Eventually, we ended up doing hour-long concerts in the conference room attended by everyone in the department. Helen hated that, too. Kevin went on to a career in the music industry thanks to his training as a First Security Proof Operator.

Working the night shift, we shared the same space and time as the cleaning crew. One April Fool’s Day, Kevin thought it would be funny if I put a fake dog turd next to my garbage can. My coworkers thought it was hysterical, too. The only ones who didn’t find it funny were the cleaning crew, who spoke no English and had no idea what April Fools’ Day meant. The outraged and embarrassed janitor grabbed me by the neck and threatened something to me in Spanish. Then he promptly quit—along with the rest of his family. That night, I asked security to walk me to my car and swore I would never play a practical joke again. (Well, one more—I called my Dad and his wife on a Mormon mission, but that’s another story.)

Anyway, I guess it wasn’t a bad way to earn a living. After all, my Aunt Doris worked there for nearly 50 years. But personally, I’m not cut out for dress codes. I’m perfectly content telling you these stories as I work from home in the comfort of my top hat, thong and bunny slippers. 

White Russian at the ready.