At the bank, I tried to deposit a copule of checks, one long overdue. At some point, I will have my checks deposited directly into my account rather than having to go to the bank every week. Still, while the teller was very nice and friendly, I couldn’t help but wonder why I was being inundated with questions when all I wanted was to deposit my checks.

“Do you want your balance on the receipt?” They ask me this every stinking time. I don’t care. I don’t care! Is there some kind of security concern with having my balance on the receipt? If I recevied a receipt at all, wouldn’t I want a balance? Who cares?

“I see these are payroll checks. Did you want to deposit these as cash instead?” Every stinking time. I don’t care! I’m curious about the hordes of people who go week to week with their money that need to have their paychecks available immediately. I don’t. No, I wrote the amount in the “checks” row, I just want you to deposit it as normal, thanks.

Except this time, I didn’t. I wrote one check in the “cash” field, and the other in the “checks” field. I meant to imply, “Yes, please deposit one check as cash and the other as a check, so I don’t have to hear you freakin’ ask me whether I want it deposited as cash.” Instead, the courteous teller asked, “Did you want these both deposited as cash, because I can do that?”

In fact, it seems that it doesn’t matter what I write on the slip - they always ask no matter what. I really just want to stick the check in a slot somewhere with my deposit slip and walk away.

So then I decided to make up for the bank with a “nice” lunch outing, so I went to Subway. Subway doesn’t seem glamorous, but it’s my go-to place to escape Wawa and Burger King, which are my only other practical options. I steered my car in that direction, and heard on the news that someone won the huge Powerball game. So much for that.

Usually before I go to Subway, I stop at the Giant grocery store to get a magazine to read. Usually that magazie is the latest issue of the Official XBox Magazine. The selection today was poor. They didn’t have my usual. Even the girl-magazines were poor. I tried to read through a craft magazine, but they’re very much not geared for the male mind. Anyhow, I ended up with a PC Magazine How-To Special Issue. Riveting.

The cute girl that usually waits on me at Subway was replaced by two people: One was a blonde girl who looked like she was attacked by one of those salons with the giant neon “NAILS” signs - big hoopy earrings, poofy 80’s-throwback hair, nails that looked so done you could probably peel back several layers worth of design. The other woman was obviously Hindi, short and dark-skinned, complete with head-covering garmet.

Over the in-house speakers played some kind of evangelistic Jesus-program. Strange? Yes, on many levels.

I mentally debated over a warm sandwich, and was promptly ignored while the wafty chickie refilled the crab container. Apparently you can get crab on a sandwich at Subway. Any sandwich. There is no particular sandwich that contains exclusively the crab meat, but there is always the option of slathering crab across, say, for example, a hot Teriyaki Onion Chicken sandwich. So says the looped-earring one.

I sat with my Subway Club in the front window and watched the rain start.

Here’s looking forward to a nicer afternoon.