tevagirl
<font color=teal>Saving little old ladies from gun
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2003
- Messages
- 19,120
I had to get money out of the ATM for my mom. Went to her bank, walked in to the vestibule, there was someone using the machine, and this dirty, smelly, obnoxiously disgusting guy waiting for a taxi. He smelled really, really bad. Gaggingly bad. So I'm waiting my turn while the woman at the ATM tries to figure out how to use the machine to make a deposit.
My brain is screaming..."Lady! For the love of God, please just go in to the bank and hand your freakin' money to a teller. I'm dying here!!"
Mr Clean is now making conversation with me. I'm trying not to breathe as I talk to him. I'm getting woozy.
Then, the unspeakable.....he asks me to hold his disgusting dirty smelly jacket and backpack while he puts on his disgustingly dirty smelly sweater.
I'm thinking.."oh God, oh God, oh God, I can't, please don't ask me" as I'm reaching for the goods. There I stand in the tiny vestibule, fumes are coming off of him and his clothes and engulfing me, and I am holding his stuff using only the very tips of one finger and a thumb. He ever so slowly starts to button his sweater. I think I am going to pass out. I'm praying for someone, anyone, to open the door to the vestibule so I can get a breath of clean air.
Deposit Lady has finally figured it out and has completed her deposit but now has to make a withdraw! What?
What! 
Mr Clean is on his last button, I'm still holding the stuff, I haven't made the slightest move, trying not to stir up what's left of the air. I can feel eyes on me coming from inside the bank. I slowly turn my head and look in, the tellers are looking back at me. They look like deer caught in headlights. I'm thinking I'm probably looking the same way.
Mr Clean takes back his jacket and backpack and exits the bank to wait for his taxi, Deposit Lady gets her freakin' money and leaves. I cannot complete my transaction. I leave the bank, trying not to touch anything. I drive home using only my left hand.
I'll get her money for her tomorrow and I'll be using a different ATM machine. You can bet her bottom dollar on that.
My brain is screaming..."Lady! For the love of God, please just go in to the bank and hand your freakin' money to a teller. I'm dying here!!"
Mr Clean is now making conversation with me. I'm trying not to breathe as I talk to him. I'm getting woozy.
Then, the unspeakable.....he asks me to hold his disgusting dirty smelly jacket and backpack while he puts on his disgustingly dirty smelly sweater.
I'm thinking.."oh God, oh God, oh God, I can't, please don't ask me" as I'm reaching for the goods. There I stand in the tiny vestibule, fumes are coming off of him and his clothes and engulfing me, and I am holding his stuff using only the very tips of one finger and a thumb. He ever so slowly starts to button his sweater. I think I am going to pass out. I'm praying for someone, anyone, to open the door to the vestibule so I can get a breath of clean air.
Deposit Lady has finally figured it out and has completed her deposit but now has to make a withdraw! What?
What! Mr Clean is on his last button, I'm still holding the stuff, I haven't made the slightest move, trying not to stir up what's left of the air. I can feel eyes on me coming from inside the bank. I slowly turn my head and look in, the tellers are looking back at me. They look like deer caught in headlights. I'm thinking I'm probably looking the same way.
Mr Clean takes back his jacket and backpack and exits the bank to wait for his taxi, Deposit Lady gets her freakin' money and leaves. I cannot complete my transaction. I leave the bank, trying not to touch anything. I drive home using only my left hand.
I'll get her money for her tomorrow and I'll be using a different ATM machine. You can bet her bottom dollar on that.
