Bank of America tries to be a really good bank to me. They know my name, they offer me lollipops at the door, they gave me a card, for free, with a picture on it (that looks, due to lighting and blurriness, like a picture of anyone ever born in the world ever), and the tellers there are always ridiculously friendly.
You know when you're talking to someone, and you're not getting as much as you're giving, and you really think the other person doesn't give a fuck about what you're saying, and you sorta wish you weren't perceptive enough to notice? Well, the tellers at the Bank of America are the opposite of this sort of person. They are, usually, some of the most ebullient people I meet all day. Here's a sample exchange from today:
Teller: Ok, is that 34?! I can't read your handwriting!
Me: Yeah, it starts with 34.
Teller: So, how's your day going?!?!?
Me: Good.
Teller: How about this weather?!?!
Me: Yeah
Okay, I'm going to stop here because I'm already half asleep just typing this exchange into my blog. But, you get it, they're like really interested...all the time...in everything about you.
Except they're not.
I like the effort, Bank of America. I like that you try to be nice to me, but you don't have to bend yourself backwards doing it. I don't want an employee to have to, like, fake a smile with me, or ask me how my day's been going if they're not really interested and they can see I'm not either. It's cool, really. You can just deposit those forty five dollars and not talk to me if you'd like. It must get frustrating having to fake that rapport with everyone. Ishn't it?
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