When A Petty Bank Teller Kills Hope

In order to prioritize saving a girl who needs to undergo a kidney transplant, I've gone to the bank to deal with the transaction.

Judith Smith, the lady working at the counter keeps making my life difficult, though.

"How can you prove that your funds are legal? Also, how can you prove that you are an employee of this charity organization?"

"These are the documents that I've prepared according to the regulations that can prove the funds' sources. Here's my work ID and my driver's license. My photos are shown here."

Judith merely glances at the identification documents before raising an eyebrow.

"You don't look anything like the photos at all!"

Since I'm in a hurry, I rush back to the organization and quickly get all the paperwork regarding my identity settled.

I initially thought that I could finally transfer the check to the hospital. But that's when Judith speaks up lightly.

"I refuse to go through this procedure."

Furious, I decide to lodge a complaint about Judith. But she has the audacity to post about me on the Internet. There, she paints me as a rude customer who not only deliberately makes things difficult for her, but I apparently also refuse to comply with the standard procedures.

Later on, the sick girl's prioritization gets canceled due to how crazy the public backlash has become. Just when I'm no longer in a hurry to transfer the payment to the hospital, Judith is the one panicking about the situation instead.

The day I found out that Lucy Smith, the little girl I'd been following up on for half a year, had finally been matched with a compatible kidney, I immediately submitted a request to the charity foundation for a 200-thousand-dollar surgery fund and applied for emergency priority aid.

On the very day the application was approved, Lucy's condition took a turn for the worse.

Anxious to get her into surgery as quickly as possible, I rushed to the bank first thing in the morning with the check in hand to deposit it into the hospital's account.

However, the bank that was supposed to open at 9:00 am didn't open until 9:30 am. And the female teller who opened the doors still had a sandwich in hand, looking unbothered.

"Excuse me. Can I make a large deposit? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Deposit?"

The teller, Judith Smith, looked me up and down, then rolled her eyes. "What's the rush? Get in line!"

Get in line? I glanced around the lobby. There wasn't a single other customer there besides me.

Meanwhile, Judith returned to her counter and leisurely enjoyed her breakfast sandwich.

With no other choice, I grabbed a number and sat in the waiting area on the other side of the lobby.

20 minutes later, I saw through the reflection in the glass doors that she'd finally turned on her computer. I stood up immediately and headed toward the teller area.

But another customer was already standing in front of her counter.

Judith's eyes landed on me for barely a second before she plastered a bright smile onto her face for the new customer.

"Good morning, sir. How can I help you?"

"I'm sorry. I was here first," I said, frowning. "I've been sitting in the waiting area the whole time—"

"So what?" Judith clicked her tongue impatiently. "This gentleman is a VIP client. He gets priority service. That's bank policy!"

"But this is a regular counter. Don't VIP customers have their own dedicated service desks—"

"Can't you see that I'm the only one here?" she snapped. "The VIP counter doesn't open for another hour. If you don't want people cutting in line, maybe don't show up before breakfast hour is even over!"

She scoffed and took the man's paperwork from him.

Her rude and impatient attitude was getting on my nerves, but for the sake of getting the transaction done smoothly, I didn't argue with her any further. Instead, I stood right there and waited rather than going back to the waiting area.

40 minutes later, the VIP customer finally left.

Just as I—calves aching from standing so long—stepped forward, another well-dressed customer walked in through the doors with account-opening documents in hand.

A flash of delight crossed Judith's eyes. She ignored me completely as she smiled at the man.

"Hello, sir. Please come this way for account openings."

"Wait a second! He's not a VIP customer either. Why doesn't he have to wait in line?"

Having had enough, I turned directly to the male customer. "I'm sorry, sir, but I've been waiting here since 9:00 am, and this is really urgent. Could you please let me go first?"

The man shrugged nonchalantly and gestured for me to go ahead.

"Thank you!"

I stepped forward happily, but Judith glanced at the thick wad of cash in the man's hand, then toward the staff corridor.

"Hold on!" she jumped in. "This gentleman is here to open an account and deposit money. Once that's processed, he'll become one of our VIP customers too. Step aside and wait over there!"

At that moment, another teller emerged from the staff corridor and headed toward the dedicated VIP counters.

Judith immediately hurried out from behind her counter, snatched the man's paperwork, and returned to her station.

I understood what was going on right away.

She was worried that if she served me first, the other teller would take the commission from serving this male customer.

"How can you do this?" I accused, raising my voice in anger.

"Keep your voice down! I have the right to refuse service to you or even blacklist you from this bank!"

"If you want to be attended to quickly, you can go ahead and deposit half a million dollars right now. That way, you won't have to wait in line either. You can use the VIP counter, too!" she said, sneering.

Then, in a low voice, she added, "But do you even have that kind of money?"

I spun around angrily, wanting to leave, but my eyes landed on the clock on the wall—10:30 am.

It was peak business hours. I could switch banks, but what if they took even longer?

I bit my lip, swallowed my rage, and stepped aside to keep waiting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Judith smirking smugly.

Another 40 minutes passed.

After standing for a total of 90 minutes, I wearily walked up to the counter and handed over the documents and the check.

"Hi, I'm an employee from a charity organization. I need to deposit this large check into the hospital's account—"

"A nonprofit? There's always a bunch of issues with these!"

I immediately spread out all my paperwork. "These are the organization's authorization documents, proof of fund sources, and other required materials. I've prepared everything according to bank regulations."

But Judith didn't even glance at the documents on the counter. She just raised an eyebrow arrogantly.

"And how can you prove you're actually an employee of the organization?"

Trying hard to stay calm, I pointed to my credentials resting on top of all the paperwork. "My employee badge and driver's license are both here. They both have my photo on them."

But Judith merely shoved them aside with one hand, then lowered her head to admire her manicure.

"You don't look like the person in the photo! I'm not processing this!"