MY POOR LITTLE TOE

Now and then, I pick up a book that's so intriguing I just can't put it down until I reach the last page. Compelling, vivid and racy pages filled with plot twists, secrets, thrillers, and cliffhangers.

I was reading such a book in bed. Reluctantly, I flipped off the lights because it was time to sleep. There was work the next day. Early to bed, early to rise and all that good stuff.

I heard a strange sound just as I was about drifting off to asleep. Was the front door locked? I couldn’t remember. I got up in the middle of the night. I didn't think I needed the lights. I was sure I knew the way to the front door even in the dark. Suddenly, I found the hard table legs with the little toe of my right foot. That's the function of the little toe. Like an antennae, it feels around for where we are going and helps us make painful connections with furniture or sharp objects. Well done, little toe.

The pain was acute and hurt like a mother. My poor metatarsal seemed fractured. I touched the toe with my fingers. It was painful and tender. Sometimes, I exaggerate when it comes to pain, but I had a feeling immediate surgery was required. I turned my head towards the night sky and let out a primitive howl of sheer agony. I could imagine my neighbors pulling their blankets tighter and over their heads. No doubt thinking it was an angry werewolf or some other nocturnal beast.

Time to find that blasted light switch that was on a wall somewhere. I needed the light after all. Just then, I stubbed the same hurt toe on the TV stand as I fumbled around in the dark looking for the light switch. This time, I unleashed a loud, ear-piercing scream like some poor creature in a death agony.

The sad and traumatized life of my poor little toe. Repeatedly stubbing the same toe pisses me off.

UNLIKE CATS, WE HAVE ONLY ONE LIFE, AND A SHORT PRECIOUS ONE

A couple of years ago, I was robbed at gunpoint and the incident felt like a scene from a movie. The robbers overtook my car and blocked my path at about midnight. Four armed teenagers. The experience was surreal.

 

They ordered me not to look at their faces as they took my car key, phone and wallet. One of them hit my face with his gun butt to drive home each new instruction. That was when I realized this movie may not have a happy ending. The car was insured and had a tracker. I had no worries about the car. My worry was about the unpredictable actions of the hoodlums who were apparently high on drugs. I feared for my life. They were out of control. I still felt like I was in a movie, and I didn't know when or how this movie was going to end.

 

Just then, we were caught in the bright glare of headlights as another car approached from the opposite direction. They left me and ran towards the car. They began harassing the other driver and ordered him to lie down on the road. That was when a voice (probably that of the movie director) told me it was my cue to get away. Like a gazelle, I ran down a side street in a zig-zag pattern. I must have broken the current Olympic games record for the distance I ran.

 

"Stop or we will shoot!" the robbers shouted. But the will to live gave me that extra jolt of speed. Fear and self-preservation propelled me. The robbers beat the other driver to a pulp and took away both cars.

 

The police got my car back a couple of weeks later during a routine traffic stop.

Weird Compliment

When clients walk through the door, we roll out the red carpet and offer the whole nine yards to them.

 

My elderly client came in for an appointment and I offered her a drink which she accepted. She felt hot and so I adjusted the room temperature. She forgot her reading glasses and couldn't read the documents I printed out for her to sign. So I increased the font size. She still couldn't make out some of the numbers and so I wrote them out for her.

 

"You should have been a doctor," she said with a sweet smile. It was an unusual compliment that a banker should have been a doctor, but I accepted it. I guess I'm caring like that. Most doctors I have met are kind and caring professionals.

 

"Why do you say that? That I should have been a doctor?" I asked her.

"I can't read your handwriting!" she said.

 

Okay, it started like a compliment, but then ended up as a criticism.

THE MAGIC OF CONFIDENCE

Two men, wearing overalls, entered the large school hall. I could see their service truck parked outside. 'Facilities Maintenance Engineers' was written on the side in bold letters.

 

We were about 20 students standing and talking in small groups with some of our teachers. One of the men approached my group. Our Physical Education teacher stood with us.

 

The man wore work gloves and was dressed in clean green overalls. He had a tool box with him.

"We got a call that some of your ceiling fans and air conditioners are not working properly. We are here to fix them."

"Good. Sometimes the heat gets unbearable. Someone finally heard our cries," said the PE teacher with a smile.

 

The men went to work. In no time, they had removed all the ceiling fans and most of the air conditioners. Some of the students assisted them in loading the items on the truck. They gave us a friendly wave as they drove away.

 

The school principal entered the hall some minutes later and felt something was amiss. We told him about the service technicians. They had taken the ceiling fans and air conditioners for repairs.

 

"Who called them?" he asked. We didn't know. We thought he called them. He didn't call them. No one in the school had called the 'Facilities Maintenance Engineers'. We never saw them again. Nor the items they took away.

 

Act confident and you can get away with almost anything. Act like you belong there. If you act nervous or uncomfortable, people won’t trust you. Walk with purpose and people will step aside. They will give you room and treat you differently.

A Good Friend

It's rare that someone calls you at 3am with an offer of employment or some other good news. 3am calls are usually unexpected bad news. So when my phone rang at 3am, I stared at the phone screen with a frown. It was my childhood friend calling.

 

He had an accident on his way back from the night club. The collision led to a four-car pileup. He wasn't hurt but his car was damaged.

 

It was warm and cozy under my bed covers. But I didn't tell him this. I didn’t also mention that it was an indecent time to call me. I didn't yawn and ask him if there was no one else he could have called. For Pete's sake, what was he doing at a night club so late? No, I didn't ask him that either.

 

"I'm coming," I said. Police and other emergency services were at the crash scene. The vehicles were moved off the road and out of the line of traffic. I took my friend home with me.

 

I left the country about a year after this incident. Someone called me at about 3am some weeks ago. 3am calls rarely bring good news. My dad was stabbed multiple times by a mugger who robbed him of his valuables. I was frantic with worry. How was he doing? He was at the hospital but was he getting the best medical care? Were the injuries life threatening? I reached out to my childhood friend. He didn't ask me why I called him at such an ungodly hour. He didn't ask why my dad was not mindful or careful. He only asked me for the address of the hospital and he went there to see my dad. He kept me constantly updated.

 

That's what a friend does. A friend is someone you can count on in times of adversity. They love you and support you unconditionally.

FACEPALM MOMENT

A couple came to the bank and approached my colleague at his wicket. They explained that they had not used their bank accounts in a long time. But they knew they had outstanding balances.

"Do you have your client cards?"

No. They did not have their client cards.

"Do you know your PIN?"

No. They could not remember their PIN.

"Do you remember your internet banking usernames or passwords?"

They did not. They had also forgotten that.

My colleague looked frustrated at this point.

"Do you remember your names?"

The couple smiled. Yes, they happened to remember their names. It was written on their driver's license.

You could tell they were in love. They held hands and looked like they were both pushing 40. The woman was beautiful and only spoke a smattering of English. The man acted as an interpreter during the discussions.

The man wanted to know if he could act on the woman's behalf for all her banking transactions because of her language limitations. He didn't want the legal hurdles involved in getting a Power of Attorney. Were there any other options?

"So you want to act on your mother's behalf?" my colleague asked.

WHAT?! They were clearly an item and not mother and son. What was he thinking?

The man bristled at the suggestion that his companion looked like his mother.

The woman asked him what was wrong. He explained to her what my colleague had asked. I could see her self-esteem collapsing.

She looked at herself in surprise. I could imagine her thought process. Was it her poor grasp of the English language? Was it her hair? Did it look tangled? Was it her dressing? Was it not fashionable? Was it her body? Was she out of shape? Was it her flat shoes? Would heels have been better?

Facepalm.

"She's not my mother. She's my wife," the man corrected. My colleague apologized but I noticed the woman had cut off eye contact with him. She looked uncomfortable and heartbroken.

 

It's not what it looks like!

It's depressing when people lose their precious life savings through fraudulent transactions. They can get hysterical and even suicidal. I have worked in the banking sector for long and it's easy to spot signs of financial despair.
 

Tears stream down her face. She's got that desperate, panicked look in her eyes. There's a long line of people and she's the last person on the queue. Her eyes dart back and forth, seeking a knight in shining armor. Chivalry is not dead. A gallant knight, I mount my white horse and ride to her side. I see the absolute terror in her eyes. Between sobs, she tells me she has lost her life savings and possibly a large chunk of her mind.
 

I invite her to the privacy of my office, away from prying eyes, to get the full details of what transpired.
 

"I made a payment online and it turns out it's a fraudulent transaction. I want to cancel the payment before they make away with my hard-earned savings. Please help me."

I urge her to stay calm but that only gets her more agitated.

"Do you have your client card?" I needed to identify the person before me. She could be the one trying to defraud the actual account owner. There are strict procedures when processing transactions. Verifying the client is paramount.

Unfortunately, she doesn't have her bank card.

"Do you have any means of identification?"

She left them at home in her frantic haste to get help at the nearest bank branch.

"Please you're wasting time. Stop the questions and cancel or reverse the payment before it's too late!"
 

But I need to identify her person before I can do anything. She needs to give me some form of identification.
 

She loses it completely. Goes berserk and hurls her phone against the wall. Then takes off her denim shirt and throws that on the floor. She sits down in her black jeans and lace bra, then starts pulling her hair. It's bizarre. I'm not sure how far this could go, so I try to restrain her with a hand on her shoulder. Just then, my manager enters the office attracted by the commotion.
 

Imagine how this looks. I have a hand on a young lady sitting in my office. She's distraught - screaming and fighting me off. Her denim shirt is on the floor, revealing an upper body clad only in a white lace bra. Her phone is shattered. My manager has a troubled look in his eyes.
 

"What's going on here?"

It certainly wasn't what it looked like.

Eventually, we were able to help her cancel the fund transfer she had done.