Wells Fargo. God I really hate the existence of that fucking bank. The fact that I’m having a bad dream about it should be a fucking clue to them that they totally fail at customer service and it’s more than just smiling at you and asking about your day. The last thing I want to discuss with my teller is how my fucking day was. Now can you please process my deposit and shut the fuck up? You are really slow and you know my store opens in 15 minutes, because your bank is right next to the mall, and you see me everyday. So why are you taking all of 10 minutes when I’m not even in line – I’m right in front of you?
I was still in Highschool? But I felt the same age, and knew all the same people I do now. I was still in Gainesville. But my Mom was, too. She picked me up from school. I remember having a pretty good day at school – I remember leaving in laughter. Everyone was leaving for Idapalooza at the break of the school day, and my boyfriend was already there. I would not be attending, however. The reasonhttps://sensicalravings.wordpress.com/wp-admin/admin.php?page=polls&iframe&TB_iframe=trues were not specified in the dream, but in reality I know it’s because I work (and it just so happens, this weekend the store in Jacksonville does need people from other stores to come help them, because two PTAMs (Part-time Assistant Managers) just up and quit without notice. At the same time, independent of each other – DO YOU SEE WHY NOTICE IS AN IMPORTANT ADULT THING TO DO? BECAUSE NOW I GET TO DRIVE TO JACKSONVILLE 3 DAYS THIS WEEK).
So, I work and could not attend Idapalooza, but all my friends would be there. My mom picked me up from school, which happens to be close to where we live (which becomes slightly relevant later). And I rode with her to the bank. We park right in front of the entrance. They are crazy slammed, because people are just getting out of school or work, and the fucking place closes at 4 (which, by the way, is STUPID and did I mention FUCK WELLS FARGO?). I don’t have anything to do, but my Mom is running back and forth to her car, I think she even ran all the way home (which isn’t far, but still), and is trying to get all her shit together like a chicken without a head, but serious OCD. It’s not very organized. But I love her. And today has been a great day.
So, I wait in line for her. Checking Facebook on my phone and all that. And it takes forever, because despite a line out the door, and the fact the bank will close soon, and the despite the fact that most people who haven’t picked up their kids from school are delaying doing so to BANK, they are still asking every person about their day, and making light, insignificant conversation, when they need to be processing the fucking numbers. You can’t count and hold a truly meaningful conversation at the same time. You always lose count. And then you have to start over. AND SHUT UP AND FUCKING COUNT. Plus, they only appeared to have 1 girl actually telling – and it was a really sweet, but easily shaken girl I hired at Gap a while back from Chic-Fil-A (and btw fuck them, too). She was definitely one of the better employees on many levels, customer service not least of all – but still not very confident, though Gap can be very fast-paced.
So as I approach the front, my Mom bursts in, a little frazzled but still in high spirits, with all her shit together. I sit in the reception area, where a cubicle banker will approach you if you need help. Which is just brilliant, that no one is sitting in the reception area, so there’s just a soulless, smiling banker roaming back and forth, instead of jumping in to help the teller. I’m sure there is a hierarchy and all, but wouldn’t excellent customer service dictate that do whatever you need to help the fucking customer?
Anyway, I get sick of staring at Facebook because my boyfriend who, in my dream, is at Idapalooza with all my friends, (but in reality, is just out of town for work) keeps posting stuff about seeing all these cool people with who I wish I could have fun, and it’s making me all kinds of jealous and feeling left out. So, I get up, and I leave and go outside just to get some change of scenery, after having stood in line forever. And I get harassed by some cop or security guard, and he really decides he’s gonna ruffle my feathers today. He decides that I deserve to be talked down to, and made to feel a fool and ashamed.
My Mom’s car is parked right in front of Wells Fargo. I mean right in front of the doors. We’re in a parking space, of course, but the cop says we don’t have a parking permit, or voucher, or otherwise explicit permission to park here. Never mind my mom is currently being assisted by their one and only, shaky teller. So he begins to harass me. Something to effect of “I’ve seen your mother running in and out of this bank several times. Is she high on something? Is she drunk? Maybe I’ll just come back and see how she’s doing behind the wheel. Maybe I’ll take a look through the car, too, see what I find.” The fucked up part about all of this, is I know that most authority figures harass people just this way, even if they don’t say EVERYTHING they think aloud, and they certainly don’t give a warning that they MIGHT do it in a bit. They’ll fuck up your day on introduction.
So, I’m kind of freaking out. Not in a way they I’ve done anything wrong, but in the way that I have just been harassed by this officer. And FUCK THE POLICE, too. And no my Mom is just suspect because she was being regular, crazy her. So, she comes out a beat or two after he parades out of view. I told her to sit in the car but DO NOT put her keys in the ignition. Just in case her sobriety is in question, those kind of DUI charges can’t come up.
So I run inside and walk briskly to the front and ask politely if we can have a parking voucher or whatever so we have proof that we had permission to park there. “Sorry, I can’t give validation to anyone but a Wells Fargo customer that we’ve assisted.” Never fucking mind that I sat in line for however long, and that I am, in fact, a Wells Fargo customer, for whatever fucking reason (O, because they outright lied to me, but that’s another story – one I am reminded of every time I have an issue with them).
I’m talking to the cashier and I’m like, “really, my mom’s right outside, you know we were in here, you helped us. Can I just have the pass?” And she’s just trying to count all this money while I’m talking to her, and she’s just shaking her head “No, I’m sorry.” And who looks like her supervisor is standing over her shoulders with his arms folded. Not helping her with customers, not acknowledging me, just watching intently everything she does. At this point, I’m understandably miffed, but not defeated. I didn’t want to go back out and risk the cop in my face again, either. So I sit back down in the lobby.
Now there’s more people, but they don’t look like they’re waiting on service, maybe they’re waiting on friends or family. And that banker is still pacing back and forth, greeting people. He sits down across from me, and sees that I’m visibly upset, maybe he saw what happened. He has the nerve to start chatting me up. You know how much I love THAT. It’s at this point in my dream that I realize this banker is my old DM, also from Gap. He is well put-together, and since he’s smiling in my dream, mildly attractive. But he’s talking to me about my day and this or that. I don’t know something mundane. I think there might have been a “You should smile!” That prompted me to say this:
“You know you are really a cool person”, he bats his eyes downward and begins to smirk, “But I really hate your job.” He kind of freezes. A few people look at me. I said it a little loud, but wasn’t obnoxious. But, O, did I get obnoxious.
I got up and gestured my arm at him.
I continued on about how “this bank is the worst I have ever had the displeasure of patronizing. That they lied to me in the first place to get my business, and now they are fucking me around over parking? And why the hell should we even need validation 4 feet away from the fucking door. It’s obvious that we are in here, you can even SEE us in here.” Note the huge panes of glass at the double doors.
He just stared forward, not engaging me. A little shocked at how quickly it escalated, perhaps. I bent over a little bit at his side; I got really close in his face. He kept calm, but as he continued staring forward, I noticed a few beads of sweat at his temple. I think I might have said a few other mean things like, “what exactly do you DO that helps people with their money? Or are you just a cog in this fucking place that doesn’t think twice about fucking everyone over.”
Whatever I began to get into was getting me pretty upset, because I woke up tossing and turning. Good thing, too. I was supposed to be up at 6:30, but my phone died because I forgot to plug it in last night. I quickly booted my laptop to check the time – exactly 6:30 AM. Nice. Thank you, universe – though it was an interesting wake up call.