I have used the same bank branch since moving here in 1992. It’s changed names once over the years and there have been several staff adjustments. I like the place and doubt I’ll ever see reason enough to move my few dollars anywhere else. Over the years, it has been a much more useful place than just a repository for my meager wages. To this day, the bank’s staff serves as the victims to test my continually expanding litany of bad jokes and one-liners.
How and when it all started is vague in my memory. Sometimes, I would walk in to an empty lobby and tell the entire staff I’ll come back when they’re less busy. Other times I might just engage in some good-natured banter with the teller. Over time, they began to expect a joke or a one-liner. I have, to date, always been able to comply with something funny and they graciously laughed at most of them. That is, until last Tuesday.
This particular Tuesday I came by and most everybody stopped what they were doing and looked at me. Even the security guard wandered over in anticipation of a joke or two. The teller (a relatively new addition to the bank’s staff) asked for the joke of the day. I had an inner feeling that if I did not come up with the requisite humorous line(s), I might not get any of my money. Realizing that my career (?) in stand-up hinged on this one performance; I dug deep for something funny.
Staring off into space, I searched the nether regions of my mind. I found and told a story about the Lone Ranger. Only one teller was old enough to remember the Lone Ranger. I put that one back and found another. It was so forgettable that I can’t remember it now. I kept looking through my dusty mental files in search of something to restore my reputation among the “bank girls.” By now I was sweating and envisioning my bank accounts being emptied and divided among the girls as punishment for my lack of preparation. One of them is a blond and I knew she would be quick to laugh. Off I run to the “blond joke” file. Here’s what I came up with:
A blond walked into a beauty salon for a haircut. She had a set of headphones on. The beautician told her she would have to take them off so she could cut her hair. ABSOLUTELY NOT!! The blond said and stomped out of the salon. She came back a couple of weeks later still wearing her headphones and still needing a haircut. The hairdresser was momentarily away from her post so the blond just sat down at her work station and waited. The beautician was gone quite awhile and the blond fell asleep. Upon her return, the hairdresser decided not to wake her so she eased the headphones off the blond’s ears. Wham! The blond fell off the chair and onto the floor, graveyard dead. The police were called and the investigator asked how it happened. “She had fallen asleep so I took her headphones off. Soon as I did that, she fell over dead,” said the now distraught beautician. Thinking this a little stranger than even he was used to, the investigator picked up the headphones. Noticing it was still running, he put the ear piece in his ear. Know what was on the recorder?
“Breathe in…breathe out, breathe in…breathe out.”
Phew! That one worked. The bank was filled with laughter and a few groans. My reputation had been salvaged. The only problem now is I have to go back….I’ll need another joke. And another. It is an endless task to keep the “bank girls” entertained.
There’s no justice in the world you know. I have to keep my wife, daughter, granddaughter, the payroll clerk at my job (also a woman) and now the “bank girls” happy. No wonder I’m bald.
POSTSCRIPT: I have just come from the bank. Several of the bank girls had read this and were very happy to see me. I told another blond joke. I guess it worked. It is a satisfying feeling to know I have made the bank girls happy. Maybe they might add a zero or two to my account balance. Probably not.