2001-04-25 - 12:39 p.m.

I go to the bank. I am the only person waiting, but I can't tell if this one teller is open. Two girls are sitting there, chatting away about something. I approach slowly but stand back in case they're busy. �May we help you, sir?� one of them says, but she's all nonchalant, like she could take me or leave me. I step up and produce my checks.

Then I realize that I forgot something. �Ahh� I actually have to get a deposit slip,� I say and start to back away. �We have deposit slips right here,� one of them says. And I realize that, of course they have deposit slips back there, they must have all kinds of things hidden back there out of my view, hidden on that little half-wall to keep a sense of mystery behind the teller, to make sure you know the bank�s holding all the cards. But she gets her own view of the world; she gets to see things I can�t see, unless she shows her hand. But today she is showing her hand because the two of them are talking as if I�m not there, and I get to see who they are, as people, not bank tellers.

I can feel that they�re people mostly because they�ve got such great chemistry as two random people working together. One girl is training the other � the white girl with the black glasses is the precocious learner, while the black girl is the wizened veteran. Both look about 23.

I try to compute the total from my checks on my deposit slip, taking into account that I�ll need to take out 40 dollars, including a roll of quarters for the washing machine, only I�m distracted because there�s so much to see and hear that I can hardly concentrate. Their girlfriends have come over from across the bank to chat; apparently they have tales to trade from the night before.

�I had to share my bed; he didn�t want to sleep in his own bed,� the veteran says. This is the answer to a question about her hair. I wonder (among other obvious questions such a comment would raise) what it matters to her hair if she has to share her bed, and on thinking that I realize that maybe they let their hair all flow out over the pillow when they're sleeping alone, and I suddenly realize that there could be all kinds of girl's habits that I don't know anything about, and that girls do exist when I am not there, that strange girls are people just like bank tellers are people. They just have their own views and their own habits, but they have views and habits just like you do, and they can do things by themselves or with you, and they may see you and enjoy your company but some of them may never bump into you at all. Or when they bump into you they don�t realize that you have thoughts just like they have thoughts.

I�m thinking all these things and I can�t concentrate on my deposit slip, which I have miscalculated. Over the seven I scribble an eight, really drill it in there nice and dark so there can be no mistake and proudly hand it to the veteran.

�You need to put your name and date on here, sir,� she says, and hands it back. �Oh, yes,� I mutter, and take it back to sign and date. She tells me today is April 25. The older girl tells the new girl that I will be depositing checks and getting cash back, which will require a new lesson. �I�m making this hard on you, aren�t I?,� I say, just to stir up a little conversation, and the veteran girl just says, �That�s okay.� Then she tells the new girl that she�s doing a very good job for only having been working for a few hours. I ask her if this is her first day, but they don�t respond because they�re already engrossed in the lesson. Then she tells the girl that a lot of those things you learned in training you won�t have to do when you get up here, and you could have printed the total on the back of the receipt if you wanted, and half those trainers don�t know what they�re doing anyway, and the new girl smiles and says, �Girl�.�

The veteran asks me if I want that as two twenties. No, I say, I also want a roll of quarters. And the new girl says, you�re doing laundry today, and I laugh and say yes, and she says, "I have to do laundry today, too,� and we both smile and laugh a bit, and for a moment that half-wall between us is gone, because it�s such a relief to know that the strange people on the other sides of these walls are people, too.

---

I walk over to the Dunkin Donuts because I�m thirsty and stupid. Maybe I can scope out some humanity in this place, I think. I go up to the counter to see what they have. There�s a newspaper there, and I strain to read it in the small space between the wall and the tall black man. He looks back at me with a sneer and I step back, refusing to abandon my smile.

Then my turn comes up and I ask for a Coffee Coolatta, and the man behind the counter asks me, what size, medium or large. And without thinking, I say, medium, but then I think, wait a minute, there�s another size he�s not telling me about, and I look up and see that, sure enough, there�s another size called �Small� that costs a good 50 cents less than the medium, and I look down and say, �Small,� and he looks at me as if he doesn�t understand, and says �Mocha�Coolatta?� He is Indian. And I say, �Small,� and he says, �Coolatta,� and I say yes, and he goes off without ever acknowledging that I have told him I wanted a small twice, and he comes out and says, �Medium Coolatta. $2.49.� And I want to tell him that I wanted a small, but suddenly I just want the transaction to be over, so I give him the money. But I wanted to sit down and write, so I sit down with my notebook and a crazy old black man looks over to me and says, �Hey,� as if to say, �You�re a little baby-faced white boy. I can get some money out of you,� and I decide for some reason that I don�t want to sit here and write stories while a crazy man yells at me, I just want to leave.

So I walk out, thinking how stupid it is to have this medium-sized Coffee Coolatta in my hand that I�ll never finish and how that guy just played dumb to exploit my inherent fear at being on the black man�s turf, where only the strong survive and I am weak and must pay the price for their position which my race brought on them. And though I�ve heard all the cliches and ragged speeches since I was this tall, I�ve never so fully felt that racism is a wall, obstructing our view from each other somehow, and you have to be fearlessly committed to knock down that wall. I�m thinking of the whole thing as I walk back home, trying to make myself strong and fearless, though it would take me a while to actually get physically strong but I could get fearless, and in fact I should march right back down there and ask for a small Coolatta in exchange for this medium Coolatta which I have already sucked down halfway.

previous - next