The other day I was at my bank, which is correctly titled “Actor’s Federal Credit Union” because I am indeed, as far as I can tell, still an actor. Why? No clue. I spend most of the time ruing the fact that I have a Bachelor of Music, and even more so that it’s focus is in Musical Theatre, and even further that New York City still has yet to embrace my antithetical genius but somehow likens Lena Dunham to Woody Allen.
But ruminations aside, the other day I was further reminded why I should change my bank.
It’s not that I hate the grease paint crowd; it’s just that I don’t necessarily fit in. The fact of the matter is: if I don’t want to hangout with them, why should I want to bank with them? It’s not like any of us have that much money, and if we do, we definitely aren’t banking at AFCU.
But the worst part is: I have to stand in line with them.
Now, admittedly, I have had some theatrical success. But I don’t pull my thumb out of my butt every time somebody asks me if I have sh*t today so they can smell my fruitions.
Which is why I also don’t want to hear you talk to my couldn’t-give-two-sh*ts bank tellers about how you are on Smash. My eyes are eventually going to get stuck looking at the back of my head before I can even deposit my measly paycheck.
Unfortunately, I was behind one of those people in line at the bank that day.
“Do you watch Smash?” asked the bumble-along older lady as she scrambled to the next available teller whilst waving a white paycheck in her hand, fumbling and bumbling like wind was blowing in her face and the oppressive weight of first world glamour had taken its toll on her just to get here. “You know, on NBC. Smash. The TV show? Smash. It’s about musical theatre and BROADWAY.”
The bank teller looked her over hesitantly; unsure if this lady was just obnoxious or drunk. “I think I’ve seen a commercial for that for something…”
“Oh well, darling, you must watch it tonight! I’m on it! Blink and you’ll miss me haha, but I play so-and-so’s wife…you will love tonight’s episode!”
“Okay,” the bank teller said, “can I have your check to deposit, please?”
“Yes! This is my check from Smash! You will definitely love the songs tonight, the songs are so good. NBC is such a good network to get in with!” she said, handing her flailing white check over the counter and to the absolutely already over it bank teller.
“But I tell you, BLINK and you’ll miss me! But it was such a great experience.”
“Ma’am?” the blank teller sighed, ready for lunch break at only 10 AM.
“Where’s your deposit slip?”
“For my check?”
Yes, your Smash check I thought.
“Yes,” the teller replied, less sarcastically.
“OH GOODNESS. I must have forgot. Can I fill one out?”
“Yes. Please step out of line.”
“I’ll be right back!” she said, bumbling out of line like some doped out cross of Liza Minnelli and Raggedy Ann.
“Next!” the bank teller called, and it was for me.
I slowly walked up in my casual, pigeon-toed fashion. “This check isn’t from Smash. I’m not on TV. Or in anything, really.”
The bank teller smirked.
“I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”