Yesterday my good friend Johnson called me on the phone. He said, “I’m running
short on cash. Could you spare a little loan?”
My good friend always seemed to be a dollar short or two. So, I’d put some
money in his bank. It’s the least that I could do.
I shaved then grabbed a brush and cleaned the cow dung from my boots. Banks
don’t care for cow manure but I’m cowboy to my roots.
I drove into the city, found the bank’s new parkin’ lot. Then walked into the lobby.
Quickly eyed my six-foot spot.
I said, “I’d like to make a small deposit here today.” She said, “How much?” I
said, “Five hundred green bills, if I may?”
Her answer came so swiftly. I was taken back aghast. She said, “We can’t accept
your cash. A policy since passed.”
A bank that doesn’t take your cash, is that a brand-new fad? I’d never smoked
on dope. Right then I wondered if she had.
I wrinkled up my nose then said, “You can’t take any cash? I asked, “Do you take
bottle caps? I’ve squirreled up a stash.”
She said, “We’ll gladly take a money order from you sir.” But then my head was
spinnin’. All my thoughts were just a blur.
She said, “Are you a member?” Just for once she seemed polite. I joked, “My
bank’s the bunkhouse in a mattress pulled down tight.”
Was this cashier even human, all puffed up and full of pride? She said, “We
cannot help you. Would you kindly step aside.”
So, I walked back to my Chevy truck, sat on my worn-out seat. I swear I felt about
as low as six feet down dead meat.
I called up Western Union. They were glad to take my cash. My good friend got
his money faster than a lightning flash.
Why do our banks refuse to take our hard-earned bills of green? I’m dang sure
disappointed. It’s the darndest thing I’ve seen.