Bank shame

I miss direct deposit. Not that the act of going to the bank in and of itself is that big of a chore; I just wish I didn't have to look the teller in the eye as I handed her my unemployment check. I never felt particularly bad about cashing in my unemployment check until today. Today wasn't unlike most times I've deposited my check. I hadn't showered. My hair was in a ponytail. I wasn't wearing makeup. I was bundled up in one of Daniel's sweatshirts. (He thinks I like his zip-up hoodie in particular, but I prefer any of his sweatshirts to mine because they are men's size extra-large and therefore extra-comfy.) The only difference with today's trip to the bank is that I went to the bank near Daniel's house in Huntington as opposed to the bank near the In-N-Out in Torrance, where I usually go. I've noticed that traffic during the day in Huntington Beach is infinitely less busy than Long Beach, where I live, and Torrance, where I tend to run a lot of errands. The bank in Huntington Beach is no exception. I walked right up to the teller without delay.

Her name was Teresa and she was about half a foot taller than me with pale skin and a mole on her chin that looked like it was about to fall off her face. Her pale face was heavily caked with makeup, which made her look put together, at the very least; and she had a huge rock on her ring finger, at which I tried my best not to stare. Our conversation was minimal; the exchange probably lasted less than two minutes. But in my mind it lasted two hours. I swear Teresa looked at my check several more times than other checkers have, and I was positive that she was judging me for being unemployed. And not in the sympathetic whoa-is-her manner either. Teresa was jutting her chin out at me feeling better about herself from my mere presence and the fact that I had handed her an unemployment check. I could just feel it.

The petty side of me had to fight the urge to blurt out, well you're older than me (she looked older, but maybe it was just because she was taller and engaged), and you're just a bank teller. But I couldn't say a damn thing. Teresa may or may not be older than me. And she may just be a bank teller. But she can look at me smugly from behind the counter because she does have a job. And I don't.