Writing for Fun
March 2017
More Than My Job's Worth - Anne Wilson
It had been difficult to find the time to take a day off, but the effort involved had proved worthwhile. Outstanding tasks had been completed successfully and there was now only one minor errand left to perform, with a minimal amount of the day left in which to do so.
Cheque in hand he strode through the doors of a well-known High Street bank and formed part of an orderly queue. Their faces frozen in friendly impassivity, three tellers attended to the needs of their customers – the ultimate identity of the face-to-face confrontations being a lottery dependent upon timings of each transaction. As he drew near to the front he hoped the officious looking, bird-like little man with the beaky nose would be allocated to someone else. It wasn’t to be.
Placing his cheque on the counter in front of him he smiled benignly.
‘I’d like to pay this into my account, please.’
Bird Man scanned the cheque and demurred.
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.’
Taken aback, he felt his voice rise defensively.
‘Why ever not?’
‘The Payee name differs from the one on our records.’
He bristled impatiently.
‘Of course it doesn’t.’
As if explaining to a child, Bird Man pushed the cheque back so that it faced the right way up.
The beak-like nose wrinkled with polite disdain. ‘The name on your account is John Leslie Patton. This cheque is made out to John L. Patton.’
Sighing deeply the customer made an ill-concealed attempt to disguise his irritation.
‘It’s a cheque in reimbursement for poor service’ he explained in tones which he hoped were equally patronising. ‘I wrote a letter of complaint and whilst the company has my signature, they probably don’t have a record of my full name.’
‘I’m sorry sir.’ The face betrayed a slight air of triumph that belied the words. ‘It’s the Bank’s policy. Perhaps you could get in touch with the company and get them to reissue the cheque.’
It had been difficult to elicit the compensation in the first place and he suspected that this odious little man was aware of it. He tried reasoning with him.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m in a big hurry and we’re talking about an amount of £50.00.’
‘I’m afraid the amount is irrelevant,’ the little man reasoned in return. ‘It’s the Bank’s policy and is there for your own protection. It would be more than my job’s worth to accept your cheque.’ He licked his thin lips with self-satisfaction.
The much-valued customer stood rooted to the spot for a few moments – rigid with indignation, whilst behind him he heard the shuffling of feet and the muttering of voices, gradually becoming more audible. He was torn. Should he stand his ground and risk incurring the wrath of the queue behind him or should he lose face and let this annoying representative of bureaucracy trounce him?
The dilemma eventually resolved itself when the man who was one behind him in the queue gave vent to the muttering and, tapping his watch, made it quite clear that expedience was tipping the scales heavily in favour of bank policy.
There was little choice but to take the cheque back.
‘Thank you for your help,’ the dissatisfied customer muttered sarcastically through gritted teeth to the cadaverous face, which remained impassive behind the protective security of the counter.
But for an unbanked cheque lying by his bedside table and the prospect of a telephone call requesting its reissue, little remained in his mind of the irritating incident once he returned to work.
Some days later he found himself in another part of the town when he saw an unmistakeable little figure alight from a car and scurry furtively into the distance. The memory of their previous encounter re-surfaced and he made an immediate note of the time, Checking every so often to see whether the Bird had returned to its nest, he was waiting for him precisely two hours and five minutes later when he saw the beaky nose twitch in nervous anticipation as it neared him.
All confidence having evaporated, the little man seemed flustered.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I lost track of the time.’
The uniformed figure stood commandingly before him.
‘You’re five minutes late, sir,’ he admonished with a poker face.
‘Won’t you let me off?’ wheedled his victim. ‘After all it is only five minutes.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t sir,’ he responded – a slight note of triumph creeping into his voice. ‘It’s Council policy and it would be more than my job’s worth to contravene it.’
He proffered the ticket and the little man had no recourse but to accept it.
They say that you should never make an enemy of a Parking Warden. It’s more than your life’s worth.