I was busy counting all the cash and checking it against the receipts issued when‘The-customer-is-always right-even-if-she-happens-to-be-bobbins’ noticed a sticker on the glass screen. It was an ear with a cross over it.
As part of National Year of the Deaf, the banks had agreed to make themselves more users friendly for deaf people. Some banks trained staff in basic sign language, another installed equipment so that deaf people could plug their hearing aids into a socket on the counter. Our bank extravagantly sent each branch a little plastic sticker to put on one counter with the simple instruction “put somebody sympathetic on this till”. No expense spared as usual.
Anyway the lovely but bewildered old lady tapped the sticker with her walking stick (she didn’t need a stick, it was just for effect) and demanded of me;
“Young man. What does this mean, young man?”
I lost my place in a bundle of ten pound notes and had to start counting again. There was more cash in Mick`s till than under a Colombian cocaine dealer’s mattress.
“It is there to show that we are a caring equal opportunities company (unless of course you are black, Asian, Catholic, Jewish, etc), and we give a sympathetic service to those with a hearing disadvantage,” I told her.
She tapped the sticker again with her stick, this time even harder causing both Mick and I to jump. I lost my place again in the bundle of money.
“You mean deaf people?”
“Yes, I mean deaf people.”
“So,” she continued, oblivious to the icy stares of the people stuck behind her in the queue. “Let’s assume that I am deaf and I present my usual cheque for payment. How would you respond?”
I felt the red mist rising but I was unable to resist. I leaned up to the glass and beckoned her closer, our faces inches apart but separated by the glass.
“I would examine the cheque to see how much you wanted,” I said in a reasonable voice. Then I would ask; “HOW DO YOU WANT YOUR MONEY!” This last bit shouted so loudly that blood began to leak from her ears and nose.
The lady stepped back several paces in shock, turned and stormed out of the building, to a round of applause from the long suffering customers in the queue behind her.
“Carry on Mick,” I instructed and returned to my desk.
Less than half an hour later I found myself in Village’s office for a dressing down.