“The Check”
Chuck Martin
Money scares me. Well, not money exactly, the transacting of the green stuff. I don’t do much banking and I leave that unpleasantness to my wife, Laurene. She writes the checks; pays the bills; manages the 501’s, 409’s or whatever the numbers are. She’s the banker in our family. thought c.d.‘s were for music. Now you can save money with them.
One day in Whitewater, Colorado I receive a $20.00 check for a poem accepted by Fence Post Magazine. The check’s bank is in Greeley, Colorado, with no branches in Grand Junction, the closest town to Whitewater. My daughter’s Credit Union is connected in some way to mine in Paso Robles, California. I figured it wouldn’t be a problem getting the check cashed, as it was for such a small amount.
At her Credit Union in Grand Junction I presented my check, plus my A.T.M. card to the lady teller. She was heavy set, young, wore too much makeup, and sported long black fingernails. She said she had to contact my branch before she could cash it.
Why,” I asked, “You have my debit card, and both branches are associated.
She shrugged. “It’s just policy.
After many tries she finally connect with someone in California. She handed the phone to me. I looked at the phone, then her. “They want to verify it is you.” She said.
I said, “Hello.”
It was a man but I could hardly make out what he was saying.
“Mr. Martin where were you b…” It sounded like he was disconnected.
“Lost him,” I said handing the phone back to her. “I’m a little hard hearing. I
could hardly understand him.”
She placed her ear to the phone, said something, and handed it back. “He’s still there, he wasn’t cut off!”
I said, “Hello.”
I heard a faint, “Your mother’s maid…”
“Gone again,” I said.
She took the phone, spoke to someone, and hung up. “He said he is refusing to identify you with the information provided. I‘m sorry I can‘t cash your check.”
“It’s only twenty bucks,” I said.
“Sorry.”
“Well, how about I go outside to the ATM and pull out twenty buck-a-roo’s ,” I picked up my card and flipped it back and forth between two fingers. “I’ll give you the twenty, you write your name and mine on the bill, then cash my check. If the check isn’t good the twenty dollars will secure it, and if it’s good I’ll return for my twenty. What say you?”
She stared at me dumbfounded. She tapped her black fingernails on the counter. I could tell she was considering my scheme, kind of rolling it around in her head. Finally, her eyes widened, she gave a sigh, and shoved the check over to me, “Sorry, against our policy.”
I left feeling dejected. I thought my proposal a good sound one. Banking is not what it used to be. Where’s the trust?
