Gilda

I went back this afternoon with my January and February paychecks (yay! I finally got paid) and my refund. Sissy was with me for moral support and to yell back at any idiots who got impatient with me. She'd be about as dangerous as a fluffy little kitten in a fight, but she projects menace really well, something Calpernia Addams called in her book a "don't make be bother with kickin' your ass" attitude.

So we go to the drive through, and I have the deposit slip filled out and ready to go, all three checks listed, and I pull up to the tube. I take the tube out having to twist around to get my right hand out and in the process bang my left forearm on the door frame which hurt like hell.

Sissy wouldn't open it for me, so I had to pull my skirt up a little bit to clamp it between my thighs and hold it tight while I unlatched the top and turned it aside, causing Sissy to giggle and how silly I looked. I put my checks and deposit slip into the tube, twist it shut, then twist back towards the window again, my skirt riding up ever further in the process, leaving it up around my hips. I put the canister in the tube, press the button, and off it goes.

The teller calls back a second later, saying she'll need my ID, and sends the canister back. While I'm waiting, I ask Sissy why she didn't tell me that, and she answers, "It's more fun this way. Besides, you'll learn better if you figure it out for yourself. You're the teacher, you should know that." Side note: Experiential learning has been shown to been more effective in learning certain aspects of science or mathematics, but direct instruction is generally a more effective means of initial instruction.

I repeat the process, complete with banging my left arm and my skirt riding up higher with each gyration, putting it now up around my waist, Sissy by this point laughing aloud and actively mocking me with every turn. The teller tells me "Just a moment," and comes back and tells me my deposit is going to require manager approval, so I'll need to come around and go inside the bank. I drive around and find a parking space, and attempt to back into it, taking about sixty-leven attempts because I can't back into a space to save my life. I get the car in, and find that I'm too close to the car next to me to open my door and get out, so I have to start it up, pull out, and come back in two feet to right. Sissy, fortunately, was kind enough to point out after I'd done it wrong three times that I was doing it backwards, and told me when to turn and how much to get the car back in to the center of the space, though it took some time because she had to do so in between laughing spasms. Keep in mind that all this time, my skirt was up around my waist, and I'd have given any passsersby quite a show had they happened to glance inside the car.

I finally get it parked, and have enough space to get out. I open the door, the door providing cover so that I could pull my skirt back down around my thighs where it belonged. Sissy was laughing so hard tears were running down her face and she was hiccupping in between some very insincere sounding words of support.

I get inside, go to the manager, get my deposit approved, get my reciept, and am told that it would probably be better in the future if I were to come inside and deal with a teller when depositing my paycheck.

I concurred.

When I got back out to the car, Sissy was on the phone telling Grace the whole story in great detail, not making any attempt whatsoever at concealing her amusement. She tells me Grace has something to say to me, and holds out the phone. Grace is having a hearty laugh at my expense.

We drive home, and get there just in time to walk in and hear Grace repeating the story to Lovey, the two of them shrieking with laughter.

I didn't find the incident nearly as amusing as they did.

It was, all things considered, a success, as I was able to actually do all of the steps at the drive through properly, and having had this success, I feel no need to repeat it.

Sissy and Grace had a brief argument over who would get to tell Boris the story.

Gilda

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