Bank Fees
By: KK
Copyright @2001

As the normal, average, American, sane, married couple my husband and I have separate bank accounts. My account usually pays for the household needs. His pays for whatever the hell he decides to spend it on.  Of course, since I am the more intelligent gender of this couple, I bank with a rare decent bank. He on the other hand, banks with the "Bank of Anal Fucking". (BofAF)

Attended by my children, I walk into the BofAF, to cash his meager check. My blood boils whenever I am forced to walk into this bank. I'm pissed already, because I live in a major city and all banks have removed all drive-thru's. This is highly inconvenient to people with children, people with handicap's or the plain dumb and lazy.

They check me for weapons at the door. They don't detect the small plastic weapons stuffed in my bra. Because of my past behavior, they are fully aware that I am capable of going postal at any moment. I am a threat. Yee fucking ha!!!

At the door I am required to pay an entry fee of $10.00.

"Welcome Ma'am and how are you? That will be $10.00 for entry."

The silencer on my weapon goes off unnoticed and very little blood is shed. I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

I immediately notice a "separate" line for non-account holders. That would be me. It doesn't matter that I am married to a major account holder in the bank...I don't exist as far as they are concerned. I am an alien.

It cost me $7.00 to stand in this special line of "non-account" holders.  I am then charged $5.00 for checking out some guys ass, $4.50 for scratching my own ass, $13.25 for criticizing some ladies hair and $1.00 for disciplining my bored children.

Two hours later, a teller says "next". That would be me. She says, "it's $12.00 to see a teller." I turn every shade of red and rip my credit card through the machine. I'm afraid to actually speak to the bitch, because I know that it costs another $15.00 if she actually hears me address her.

She takes my finger prints, my first born child, and a lien on my house. She then announces a new policy.

"Ma'am we now charge $3.00 to cash a business check."

"Excuse me?" I ask.

She lays a flier in front of me announcing the NEW policy. Mind you, the fucking policies change every five minutes. I had just cashed a check the day before and the policy didn't exist. I was only charged the normal fees of entering and exiting the building.
I gently slapped the flier back into the pile and educated her on the fact that this policy didn't exist 24 hours ago.
"Well Ma'am, maybe they didn't charge you because of who you are."

"Well, who the fuck am I? Last time I checked, I was the wife of the account holder and since this is a community property state, half of that money is technically mine, which means that you are charging me $3.00 to withdraw my own GOD DAMN money!!"
I now have everyone's attention so I shield my children from the SWAT team that I am quite certain is en route to this institution.
She shrinks, ever so slightly, but stands her ground. "That will be $3.00, plus $15.00 for speaking to me."

So far I have spent $55.75 to enter the bank. I have now actually addressed the minimum wage employee. Tack on another $15.00 and I am in the hole for $70.75. The check I'm trying to cash was worth $100 and is, at this point down to $29.25.
I check my wallet. Of course I don't have $3.00 in there, that's why I'm trying to cash the fucking check...so I will have CASH!!

 
"I can take the $3.00 from your withdrawal, Ma'am."

Goody-goody...that makes me feel so much better.

"Oh, Ma'am, there will be a 2 year hold on this check, just to be sure that it clears."

I slowly pull out the very real looking water pistol and point it at her A-cup breasts. " I will implode your little cupcakes if you don't fork over MY money, NOW!!"

She counts out $19.25. "Aren't you missing $10.00, sweet pea??"

"No, Ma'am, you were charged $10.00 for threatening my breasts."

The BofAF has decided to offer me a straight jacket and my own uniformed escort out of the building. I politely decline. I take my $19.25 and head for the doors that my children have been ever so kindly holding open, for my escape, since I was charged for verbally addressing the teller.

After dropping a few grenades into the trash cans, I am confronted by another bank employee stating that in order for me to leave the building it would cost me another $14.75.  $4.50 later I am happily driving down the road. I watch the flames in my rear view mirror and am delighted by the fire engines whizzing by me.