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“Banking Rules” by James Tate 🇺🇸 (8 Dec 19438 Jul 2015)
I was standing in line at the bank and the fellow in front of me was humming. The line was long and slow, and after a while the humming began to irritate me. I said to the fellow, “Excuse me, would you mind not humming.” And he said, “Was I humming? I’m sorry I didn’t realize it.” And he went right on humming. I said, “Sir, you’re humming again.” “Me, humming?” he said. “I don’t think so.” And then he went on humming. I was about to blow my lid. Instead, I went to find the manager. I said, “See that man over there in the blue suit?” “Yes,” he said, “what about him?” “He won’t stop humming,” I said, “I’ve asked him politely several times, but he won’t stop.” “There’s no crime in humming,” he said. I went back and took my place in line. I listened, but there was nothing coming out of him. I said, “Are you okay, pal?” He looked mildly peeved, and gave me no reply. I felt myself shrinking. The manager of the bank walked briskly up to me and said, “Sir, are you aware of the fact that you’re shrinking?” I said I was. And he said, “I’m afraid we don’t allow that kind of behavior in this bank. I have to ask you to leave.” The air was whistling out of me, I was almost gone.