Walking up to teller, I say, "can you tell me a long joke?"
He thinks then smiles, and says, "why?"
"Because I don't have an attention span," I say. Silence now.
Then he says, "I don't know any long or short jokes. If I was trying concentrate on telling a long joke, I wouldn't be able to concentrate on what I'm doing."
My first question was a sarcastic one for shut the fucking hell up then and stop babbling to your customers about the rain, the weekend, what could be worse, and do your fucking job, there's a line piling up here. This is a shitty day. No real reason except its the same fucking Monday as every other fucking Monday.
No one cares. No one listens. No one knows what it takes to keep cleaning this building after what seems like you bitches drinks loads and loads of coffee, except most of it you don't drink, then toss into the trash then that's my job to do. Not only that, you never put anything back from where you got it. You think setting up for the events and doing this heavy lifting is no big deal, and in fact, the chairs are light, as you say. Then I gotta clean after your pig parties. Being a cleaning maid is like having the shittiest of all roommates that throw parties every weekend. I guess this wasn't about yapper the teller, but it still kinda was. Don't know why I come here. Don't know why I keep showing up!