Watching Flies

Monday. I make it over to the bank. A little early.

I walk through the door and fail to register why so many people are standing there. I reach for the inside door and pull. Then push. A voice behind me whispers “opens at 9:30.”

I find room at the wall. Elbow to elbow. It feels like an elevator My personal space invaded. Faint whispers. No eye contact. Counting cracks. Flies bounce against the lights overhead.

Another guy walks in. My performance is repeated. I notice the collective once-over, judging, dismissing.

Everyone goes back to wall watching.

A third guy enters. The push-pull ritual is popular. But this guy’s a little different (making a moon face in the glass door) volunteering information. He knows people who know people. No one will look at him. Everyone watches. Something’s amiss. Gaping. Embarrassing. Grins are exchanged. The males in the crowd make strategic checks of their own. He’s oblivious, loud, intent on sharing his story. No one engages. A bank manager unlocks the door and the collective breathes a sigh of relief.

Here’s to you cool guy. And an admonition to zip all things zippered before making any public appearance.