It's nearly April and time to recharge by leaving the City. I can't use my condo since Wolf has taken up occupancy. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, the rental income is good but not enough to cover my Bloomingdale's habit. I call a good friend. "I was thinking of visiting," I tell my former neighbor who's moved south permanently.  "I miss having cappuccinos together and tearing apart the liberal NY Times," I continue hoping remaniscing will bring about the wanted invite.  "Can I type? You know I write professionally. What's up?" I have to ask though my gut is already telling me this is not going to be the free and easy trip I had hoped for.  "Ok, yeah I can pitch hit for your assistant,"

I'm recruited, but it's not nearly as bad as I feared. After mulling the situation over I realize I should make about $1,000 in less than a week, leaving me with no less than three days to myself. Plus I can deduct the flight cost.  Not a bad deal.

Fast foward to the last day of my visit. I have a check for $960.00 in hand and want to cash it. My friend, and per diem employer, agrees to a third party check. I sign over the check and with it still in hand head to the nearest PNC, the payee bank.

When I arrive inside the branch I am greeted by a male receptionist sitting at an inpenetrable desk.  "I want to cash a check payable at this bank," I get straight to business.  The male receptionists calls to a woman sitting at a nearby cubicle who looks over and waves for me to come to her. As I swiftly stride to her station, she stands and holds out her hand to acquire the check. I hand it to her. Without any hesitation she examines the check. "I'll be right back," is all she's said before disappearing into a doorway at the end of the square room. I am left standing idle at her unoccupied station.

As I scan the room, I remember my friend has asked me to pick up deposit slips while at the bank. I see them on a table just a few feet away. I'm about to help myself to about a dozen or so deposit slips when suddenly the stack is held down by an intruding hand. I look up to find a middle aged woman, about my size except 30 lbs. heavier, looking directly at me.  "You can only have 5 slips," she announces.  "What? Why? I need more than 5," I inform her.  "It's policy," she replies.  Then she points out that between each slip is a similarly sized tinfoiled paper containing a miniscule candy. "It's a treat provided by one of the bank founders," I am informed.   I look at the wrapper design. A fuzzy brown teddy bear in blue jersey wearing a red baseball cap is smiling at me.  "Do you know who's logo that is?" she asks. I do not. "It's George Walbear. He not only owns a large share of this bank, but also the baseball team up North." I am more informed but couldn't really care. I just want my money. "So is he a hot shot around town?" I inquire to make small talk in the hopes I can finesse garnering more than 5 deposit slips.  "Oh no," she responds, "he lives up North." I realize there is no conversation and no hope to retain the slips. "What's taking so long to cash the check?" I decide to return to my original business. "Let me look into it," says the oddball woman who also disappears behind the same door the woman who took my check had gone through what has become about 20 minutes ago.

After only a couple minutes the oddball returns with cash in hand. She hands it to me along with a slip with a breakdown. I am given $720.00.  "What's this?" I inquire, "where's the rest of the money?". The oddball (and now another collegue who had been sitting at the cubicle next to the vacant one I was standing in front of) inform me that there are deductions to the check for my not being one of the bank's customers.  I point out that as a third party check the payee and the payor, one and the same, is a bank customer. I am only a carrier. "No matter, the original payee was not a bank customer. The fee sticks." "You took nearly 20%," I am quick to point out, "that's outrageous."  "That may very well be, but it's policy," I am told.  "I want to speak wtih a bank manager," I demand with my nerves now on edge.  "Ok, but none is here so you'll have to wait until one comes back," I am stonewalled into submission.

Tapping my foot loudly for nearly an hour has not produced any help. No manager has appeared. I inquire again to several bank employees but receive only shrugs in reply. I notice an open door directly behind the male receptionist so I journey over. When I get to the doorway I peer in and find several executive types sitting in front of computers.  The one closest to the door asks me what I want. "A manager, I need to speak with a manager. I've been waiting over an hour," I say hoping for relief. "I can help you, if you want to come into the backroom," says the guy with a sneer on his face. There's snickering from the other guy at a nearby desk. I glare with the meanest look I can muster and retort, "I've been solicited by far more substantial jerks than you," and walk away.  As I turn out of the doorway I am facing and stop in front of the male receptionist.

Without any further hesitation, I open my cell phone and dial 911. "911, what's the emergency?" 
"There's a bank robbery in progress at the PNC bank. Please send over an officer." The male receptionist has a horrified look upon his otherwise dull face. I hang up thinking I've done nearly all I had to do.  Then I dial channel 2 news. "There's a bank robbery in progress at the PNC bank. Send over a camera crew." I hang up my phone and look quite pleased with myself at the open mouthed jerk behind the door, and the male receptionist.  Let's see what they have to say when police and camera crews arrive.