I went to the bank today to pick up the money for the bowling league. We pay our dues every week, and half of it goes to paying the lanes, and half of it goes to the league. At the end of the season, we pay our expenses for awards and officer salaries, and most of the rest gets distributed to the teams based on how many games they won (we leave some behind to keep the account open for next season). My job as the treasurer is to make sure the money gets collected each week, the lanes get paid, and come May, the league gets paid.
The week leading up to the last night of the season is kind of why I do the job. Doing all the calculations for how much everyone gets, breaking down the amounts so I can get the right amount of each bill from the bank, and then, in the end, counting off the last few bills and seeing that everything adds up…I mean, I’m a total dork, but I like it.
I always call the bank the day before I go to pick up the money, and I give them the specifics over the phone, i.e. “I need this many 50s, this many 20s, etc.” But I always bring the numbers with me on a small piece of paper just in case.
As I’m standing in line today, I realized that I was holding a piece of paper that essentially demanded my withdrawal in small bills, akin to what a bank robber in a movie does. I put the note in my pocket before I ended up accidentally giving it to the teller instead of the withdrawal slip.
Could you imagine if I’d walked up to a teller that didn’t know I was coming and handed her a note like that? That might have caused a wee bit of a problem. Not to mention would make for an interesting story on league night. “Sorry guys, I couldn’t get the money to you this week. See, there was a misunderstanding, and there were cops and everything…”
Alas, crisis averted. Instead, the most untoward thing that happened was when a guy with a safe deposit box walked in on me when I was counting the money in what I thought was a private room. All things considered, I guess I’ll take it.
A Revolution From My Bed 