The bank teller smiled and began printing out my receipts. I smiled back and gave my normal answer to the typical and thoughtless question of, "How are you doing today?"
"Oh, I'm fine, thank you." Winsome smile. "How are you?"
He was alright. His feet were hurting. He was pretty sure he fractured his finger but he decided against going to the doctor because, after all, what can they do about fingers except ice and tape? He was having surgery next week. Oh, it was alright, just a part of life. He wasn't looking forward to being laid up in bed for recovery, tough. This would be knee surgery. Yeah, knee surgery wouldn't be too fun, you know. But it's cool, it's alright. No big deal. "Oh, hey, next week we're having a little kick-off party here. It'll be really fun: we're going to block off the parking lot, we'll set up tents and tables and have food and stuff. It will be really low-key, like an open house. You should stop by."
A party? I thought it sounded great, so I said, "Sure! I'll tell the people at my office, and we'll check it out."
I walked back to the office and told the others about the kick-off party.
"Umm...We should go."
"There will probably be free stuff."
"I wonder who is catering..."
"Yeah, let's be sure to do it!"
The week passed and yesterday, at about 3:15, I realized it was the day of the party. No one else in the office could make it - people were very busy - but I decided I would brave it on my own.
"Be sure to bring back stuff for us!"
"Do you want a bag?" - "A bag?? I'm not showing up with a bag to bring back goodies. Sheesh. Honestly."
Shaking my head at the idea of bringing a bag to put goodies in, I walked the short distance to the bank, without a second thought to my outfit: yoga pants, an Oxnard Fire t-shirt, tennis shoes, and a neon green running jacket. After all, I was only heading to an outdoor open house. No biggie.
I saw the Country Catering truck in the parking lot and smiled. At least the food would be good. I couldn't see any tents or tables, though, but that didn't concern me because I am a doofus. I kept heading toward the bank.
As I walked closer I noticed the people around me seemed very well-dressed.
Very well-dressed.
I suddenly started thinking about my workout clothes. Steph. Turn around. I ignored the little voice in my head. No, I told myself. This can be salvaged. Just act like you belong and you'll be fine. I saw people had name-tags, so I figured I would go inside, get a name-tag, make a charming little joke about being under-dressed, and then hob nob with a few people before grabbing whatever stuff they had and heading back to the office.
I was inside the bank, which was full to overflowing with formally attired grown-ups, and had just grabbed a sandwich and was looking around to see who I should talk to about getting a name-tag when someone coughed into a microphone.
"Umm, excuse me? Is this thing even working? Yes, everyone. Everyone! EXCUSE ME!" Alarmed laugh. "Yes, it's time for us all to go outside for the ribbon cutting ceremony."
At first no one moved. People shrugged and went back to their conversations. Then I saw a cheerful-looking woman holding a Corona move to the door. People began moving out, and before I could find a plate for my sandwich I was hustled out the door.
"So, are you here to put out a fire in case one gets started?" A woman asked me.
"Oh, no, haha my office sent me over to represent them at this little shindig."
"Oh, good for you!"
I nodded - incredibly confused by that little exchange - and walked out the door, into the parking lot. I walked between two parked cars, and was going to keep walking away when from out of nowhere people were suddenly filling in the space around me. There was nowhere to turn, except back toward the bank. Stuck, still holding my sandwich, I tried to pay attention to what was being said.
The same woman who had directed us outside was saying something about the bank, how it was opening, blah blah blah, the mayor of Goleta will say a few things. Mayor?
The mayor. Of course. And there I was in my lime green workout clothes. Awesome. I clapped by patting my free hand on the top of my sandwich holding hand and ignored the confused glances that were being sent my way. The mayor said some things, people tittered and chuckled, and then as I thought I would be able to make my escape, more people spoke. Just as I was in the process of imagining myself in a really lovely pencil skirt and blouse - with rocking heels, of course - the man next to me raised his hand and smiled at the people. Every face was turned toward us. I turned and smiled at him, barely able to hold back the laugh that was building inside me.
I leaned against the car I was standing next to so people could see him. What, exactly, was this car I was leaning against? It was certainly smooth...Oh! A Lamborghini. Neat. Why not? There was a Porsche on my other side.
I leaned to the guy standing beside me and whispered, "My office sent the wrong representative to this thing." He laughed, but I could see what he was really thinking: This is obviously some person who walked by and is here for the food.
I looked down to see the sandwich still held in my hand.
I smiled - because the newspaper was there taking pictures - and kept my chin lifted. I laughed when people made jokes. I nodded sympathetically as people prophesied the amazing things this bank would do in the community. And then, just as soon as the pictures were taken, the words were spoken, and the people were ushered back inside, I walked briskly away, holding my sandwich.
I was back in my office by 4:15.
I don't know that I will ever trust that teller. Ever. Again. Who knows at what fancy event I'll end up under-dressed next?
But the sandwich was good.
