bruiserboy

I went to exchange my leftover Canadian currency back into US funds this afternoon. Pam, the teller reacted as if I were asking her to transmute blood into uranium 236. Her lower lip just kind of quivered and her eyes glazed over. I had to give her one of those "are you still there" looks after about 45 seconds of unresponsiveness.
She then waddled over to the archaic computers banks seem to specialize in, and started entering data. After a long pause, she called a fellow teller over to help. Another pause.
She returned to the counter and asked And you wanted this exchanged for Merican funds, right?
I debated asking for those giant stone wheels used as currency in certain primitive cultures, but thought the better of it.
Yes, please.
Once again she returned to the Speak and Spell the bank was calling a computer, and began typing. At least two minutes passed. Her coworker began conferring with her, then came over to the counter and counted the four Canadian $20 Elizabeth bills. She looked up at me and asked And would you like all of this exchanged?
Yes.
The first teller came back to the counter and began entering data into another oddly shaped, pre Macintosh apple monstrosity, and smiled at me. I smiled back. A man with a mustache, a manager of some sort, I assume, emerged from an office behind me, stepped behind the counter and inspected the Canadian bills. He turned and looked at Pam and said Of course this is real money. Then returned to his office.
Pam blushed as I cocked my eyebrow at her. Once again she began entering data. Finally the cash drawer opened, and she handed me my $47.28.
Have a nice day.
Pam is now on the same list as the woman at Walmart who carded me over a PG13 movie.