Mountain Dew cans can hurt

During my time as a branch manager of a bank, I decided I wanted to work in a rural area so I would stand out more when I went to the local filling station in my business suit. It only made me feel better about myself to get shouted at by Mexicans in trucks on my way to check the mailbox. There was illegal barbecue being sold nearby and as long as I kept flashing a smile at the giant black man selling it, he would keep my little office stocked with hot links and armadillo eggs. I liked to think of myself as a prodigy in the middle of Podunk, Oklahoma. As though people would drive by the bank,

“Is that where SHE works, honey?”

 “Yeah, I heard she bought some sour patch kids at Casey’s station the other day.”

 “Gosh, she’s so different than us. I only buy cheetos there. she’s so glamorous”.


This was easy for me to think because 10 miles into the town where I grew up, Edmond, Oklahoma,  I could wear a bikini walking down the street licking a popsicle, and Mexicans in trucks would throw empty mountain dew cans at me. I was much more in my element at the top of the charts.


I only had 3 employees and I hired them based on their smiles. I didn’t want to work with anything yellow, cracked, or crooked. So needless to say, 8 dollars an hour to an adorable 19 year old with a beautiful smile didn’t confirm an awesome work ethic. She would have 3 to 4 customers a day and would completely ignore them when they introduced themselves with their town attached,

“Hey there pretty, I’m Bill Shields from out there in Mulhawk, and I need to withdraw 7 dollars from my savings account to buy some deer corn.”

She’d merely sigh, smile, and go back to sending her boyfriend dirty ecards on her computer. Sometimes I would send her instant messages that said “Stand up! Say, ‘No problem let me get that started for you’ then smile and hand him the money. Then say ‘Thanks Bill from Mulhawk, have a great day and come back anytime’, then sit back down and Google ‘work ethic’.” After the customer leaves I say “I told you EXACTLY what to do with that customer. Not only did you not do all of it, you did none of it. I basically sent you a script”. She said “He was cutting into my lunch…just…never mind”, started crying and left the bank. I, of course, would rather lick a gym floor then make someone cry, so I would make it up to her by giving her a chocolate chip cookie when she got back.

As part of my management responsibilities, I had to make sure our ATM was stocked with plenty of cash. About once a month I would have to load a canister of 5’s and a canister of 20’s and take it out to the machine. I was required to legally take one person out there with me, so I would take one my smilers out with me. As though when we got thrown in the back of the van, she would be able to somehow protect me. I took customer service extraordinaire out to the ATM with me one particularly windy March morning. I always made her hold the money canisters, because I didn’t want to get jacked in the face for 40 grand and lose my status in Podunk County because of some unfortunate scars. After 13 combinations and my lip gloss being completely blown off, I got the vault open to remove the existing canisters. At that particular moment, Jesus decided to blow the wind so hard that it blew the canister right out of my hand and it smashed into the ground with a vengeance, opening the canister and exposing three thousand dollars worth of fives to the Oklahoma wind. She immediately jumps on top of the money and I just start crying. There are fives blowing everywhere and I am running around the parking lot throwing them into my shirt. A van full of old men pulls up and they run out to help me, shouting “We’re helping!” the whole time, as though I could jujitsu them if they were trying to snag them for their own fortune. There’s one old man in coveralls chasing a bill down the road and all the way into a field. One of the men goes to help smiley and is helping her stuff the money back into a canister. I realize how many regulations I am breaking and consider just throwing in the towel, getting in my car, and driving home to eat some of my son’s fruit roll ups.

The nice men get back into their van and park right beside us, to protect us from wolves and robbers, who may take advantage of our unfortunate situation. They wave to us as we walk back into the bank, money sticking out of every pocket and tears running down my face. I try really hard not to cuss in front of my employees, but I walked back into that back and saw the other employee’s sympathetic looks and realized they’d been watching from the drive thru window. I sobbed out “It’s….always….so….FUCKING…windy…on the days…sob…sob…..I go out there”. They all patted me and then went home and made fun of me to their husbands.

I called my mom in a very emotional state, explained we had retrieved all the money, and gave a moving soliloquy about the kindness of small town people, and how I wish I could find out who those men were so I can thank them. It made me happy to live in Oklahoma and not Compton or Nigeria.

The next day 2 men stole my Gucci bag out of my car while I was 7 feet away with my 4 year old. It was probably those stupid old losers who helped me save the 5’s.

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