It wasn’t a big bank by any means; not a multi-storeyed affair with lots of bells and whistles, marbled walkways or lush furnishing, but it was impressive enough. More impressive still was the amount of water I found myself wading in, just minutes upon my arrival.
I didn’t know bank tellers were this cute, though. I found myself making excuses to stick around for just a bit longer, but water-logged shoes don’t make good footwear. That and the fact that I had to dream up something pretty quickly to get things in order.
Which meant climbing rickety ladders and peeping through small portholes to take badly aimed pictures. Once that was done, I found myself gesticulating at pipes and such, trying to make sense to the client all the while wondering what in the world I was saying, which, in this line of work, happens quite often.
From that particular bit of madness I stumbled home to find the family unit preparing to go out: it was mum’s birthday, and while I remembered it, I didn’t expect an elaborate celebration. Between enduring expensive wine and my brother’s incessant demand that I find other means of paying the bills, I recall staring blankly at billboards in the distance wondering when everyone would shut the hell up: thinking with food and family around is just not done, I realize now.
Half-awake, I play ball and make my way back to site. I feel a twinge of guilt when I learn that one of the contractors had not taken their dinners; a twinge and quickly gone, when I remembered just what sort of asshole this fella really was.
I slap my sizable belly and offer my commiseration, smiling.
And that was the highlight of the night, honestly.
The rest fades in a blurry haze: back home; bath; forgetable small talk and then, thankfully, sleep.
Bad days should be this good, considering how my client might be facing a multi-million dollar suit.
