Welcome To Our Bank, But Next Time Leave Your Cap & Sunglasses In the Car

The whole thing started innocently enough.

I thought.

The midweek sportswriters' lunch, where I dined on lightly-fried tofu with mixed vegetables in brown sauce, steamed rice, two crab rangoons and lots of Chinese tea, was over.

The guys in our group had all gone their separate ways on a very nice October afternoon.

I wanted to make a couple of stops before I went home.

I went to the Post Office to buy a book of postage stamps, and picked the Walt Disney variety that have pictures of Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Cinderella and the rest of the gang on them.

Then I went to one of my banks in West Des Moines, where I've done business for 15 years or so.

My job was to deposit a check for more than $4,000 into one of my accounts, and I figured that would make the folks working in the bank happy.

Desposits are always better than withdrawals as far as a banker is concerned, right?

I signed my name to the back of the check and took it up to Miss Smiley Face behind the counter.

As I usually do whenever I do any business at a bank, I put my Iowa driver's license -- my new, 2-year license that's issued to people who are...well, let's put it this way...a bit more mature than some of the others who qualify for 5-year licenses these days -- on the counter, along with the check and the deposit slip.

Everything was going well.

Miss Smiley Face gave me my receipt, then said, "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"No, that takes care of it," I said. "It's beautiful day out there, so I hope you get to enjoy some of it."

As I headed to the door of the bank so I could walk back to my car, I heard my name -- or at least a version of my name -- being called.

Since I was the only customer in the place, I figured somebody wanted me to stop.

"Mr. MAY-Lee! Mr. MAY-Lee!" a stern female voice dressed in business clothing said.

The plump woman reminded me of one of my seventh-grade teachers. She sounded like one of them, too.

You must understand that being called Mr. MAY-Lee didn't surprise me one bit.

Even though my name is supposed to be pronounced as though it were spelled Malley -- "like O'Malley without the 'O'," I tell people -- it's often pronounced MAY-Lee because there's just one "L" in Maly.

It doesn't bother me. I've come to expect it.

Anyway, I whirled around when I heard the second "Mr. MAY-Lee" from the schoolmarm-type woman.

"Yes?" I said.

"I'm the assistant manager of the bank," she said. "Maybe you didn't see the sign we have posted on the door, but I would like to ask a favor of you.

"Would you please not wear a cap or sunglasses the next time you're in this bank."

I was wearing a black baseball cap with the word and numbers "Guinness, 1759" on the front, and dark glasses.

They weren't sunglasses; they were tinted prescription glasses. I wear the blue version and the gray versions much of the time.

As for the rest of my clothing, I was wearing navy blue sweatpants, a dark gray crewneck sweatshirt, a black, insulated sleeveless vest, patterned flannel boxer underwear shorts, gray socks and some Sketchers sports shoes I had bought for our trip to California last summer, and of which I'm kind of proud.

With that attire, I fit right in at our sportswriters' lunch at the Oriental restaurant.

When you take a look at the way I showed up at the bank in the photo at the left, don't you think I come across as your Uncle Charlie who likes to go on fishing trips to Minnesota? Or the guy you see at the hardware store on Saturday morning? Or the grandpa at the soccer and Little League baseball games?

Now, at the bank, my brain suddenly began working overtime.

I recalled that this bank had been held up at least once in recent months.

Maybe even at gunpoint.

I tried to not sound unhappy when I got stopped.

"I know why you're saying those things to me," I told the woman impersonating my seventh-grade teacher.

"And I also know my picture is probably being taken by a hidden camera right now, so I'm going to smile."

"Thank you. You're right," Seventh-Grade Teacher said.

When I got outdoors, I looked at the sign on the door. It said the bank didn't want customers wearing caps or sunglasses unless we wore them "for medical reasons."

That's nice.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about the incident at the bank, and obviously I'm still thinking about it now.

I mentioned it to one of my daughters-in-law this morning.

I said the assistant manager at the bank wanted me to do her a favor.

"Did she want you to autograph one of your books for her?" my daughter-in-law asked.

That's happened at other places before.

"Not this time," I said.

Then I told her the rest of the story.

"Will that make a difference on whether you continue doing business at that bank?" she asked.

"Maybe," I said.

*

Bank cartoon courtesy of www.CartoonStock.com