Bank tellers are for the most part coolly efficient. This one wasn't.
She took her time telling me that the answer to my question was no, I couldn't do the currency exchange I wanted. Oblivious to my frustration and stress, she then fixed me with a dreaming look and told me of a grandchild who had gone to Norway, and how last month a customer had asked for Scottish pound notes, and how strange it is, this apparently cashfree society we are heading towards.
I had been gathering up my shopping bags to leave quickly in a frustrated huff. But her slow, soft-spoken ramblings were hypnotic. I remained there, staring at her in fascination. Before I knew it, I heard myself talking to her about the peculiarities of my recent travels.
When I left the bank, without the foreign currency I wanted, my frustration and stress had vanished. Who was she? Luna Lovegood in middle age? They should use her as one of those people who talk down terrorists with their finger on the trigger.
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