Suddenly

 John's post over at Going Gently about the sudden death of a colleague brought to my mind a time when I was in banking. That part of my work life lasted nearly nine years, and I could tell quite a few stories about various sorts of people I met. You get to know a lot about people when you work with money, and when they trust you with their money, you get to know infinitely more.

I started at one bank as a floating teller, where I went from branch to branch all over the county. At one branch, where I was sent to work numerous times, I was given the worst window. This was typical practice, really. I usually got "left handed windows," as they were known which didn't bother me as I'm somewhat ambidextrous. And it was the window I was always assigned when I worked in this particular branch, so while it wasn't necessarily the nicest one ergonomically speaking, it was familiar.

It was the last window in the teller line, and the line layout was shaped like the letter C. The customers had to go through something like a maze and at the end go to the teller who was ready for the next customer rather than to pick a teller and wait in separate lines. My window opposite where the line ended, so customers often walked up to me to transact their business rather than waiting to be called. The branch manager was a rather stern woman who chided me once for having something of the previous transaction in plain view when the next customer walked up. Breach of privacy, she said. I covered the transaction with a piece of paper as the unbidden customer approached. He had heard what she said. I looked at him, said hello, and took his deposit slip.

"I didn't realize you weren't ready," he said. "No one was at your window."

"Yes, it's par for the course working this particular window, as you're but two steps away. I usually let the next in line know I'm ready, but if you've been waiting longer than you like, it's easy to walk right up."

He looked guiltily at the branch manager who was still glaring at me. I had learned from other dealings with her to allow some of her comments to bounce off because she wasn't going to change, least of all when a lowly floating teller suggested that her manner was about as warm as steel left outside in the dead of winter.

As I finished with his transaction and could surreptitiously take the earlier transaction and file it in the same bin with his (as we separated work by type of transaction, e.g, deposits in one bin, cashed checks in another), we nodded pleasantly to one another as we bid our good-byes. He looked askance at the manager. I could see he felt sorry for me. She moved away from me after that, returning to her office.

Ann was the teller to my left. She had been working there for a while, but hadn't worked with me before. She was older than I was, decidedly on the far end of middle-aged. The manager's curt tone hadn't escaped her notice, either, and she spoke quietly to me about it. 

I told her one of my gifts was to bring out the worst in some people. In many of those cases, I didn't even have to try; it just happened. Here, Ann smiled, and said with the manager it likely didn't take much from anyone. 

Between customers, we made small talk one to another. Ann liked working, had been married for years and years, found some of the customers delightful and others a handful.

I was scheduled to work at that branch for at least a week and likely two, so the ensuing days brought us  more opportunity to chat.

It was a Thursday. Fridays were always long days at the bank because we were open later, many people had Friday paydays, and waiting on so many more people could mean more opportunities for one's drawer not to balance. I had learned to pace myself on Fridays. Ann and I talked of strategies we had employed. Like wearing your most comfortable clothes and shoes. Taking advantage of any breaks in the line to bundle your work in smaller batches because it was sometimes easier to catch errors. And how tired one felt after work on Friday. That branch had Saturday hours as well, and having to go in Saturday morning after a busy, busy Friday was always draining.

Ann mentioned feeling tired just thinking about Friday, and we both giggled. I suggested she have supper as early as possible and go to bed at a decent hour so she could wake up refreshed.

She worked very neatly and tidily. She always proved her drawer quickly and efficiently. She thought my idea of early supper and bed a good one, and one she was going to employ. We bade good night to each other.

I got to work Friday morning a little early. Being a floater, I never had a key to the branch office, but I knew Linda, who was one of the key keepers, got there on the early side, so if I got there early, I wouldn't have to wait long to be let in.

I got there shortly after Linda, and she let me in. I set up my drawer and helped with some of the pre-opening tasks. The manager arrived next, surprised to see me already there and helping without being bidden. The other tellers rolled in and set about their usual duties.

Ann was always prompt, but she wasn't there. In fact, the manager mentioned, she had never been late. We were all perplexed as to why she hadn't called.

The phone rang. I answered it in my professional voice, using the bank's preferred way of mentioning the bank name, followed by my name, and asking how I could help. It was Ann's husband. He sounded distraught. He asked if I were Megan, the floating teller, the one who worked next to Ann. I said yes, I was she.

And here, all kinds of words tumbled out. How much Ann enjoyed talking to me. How nice I was. How she loved my sense of humor. When he paused for a breath, I said, "Well, all of us here like her, too. We were just saying it's not like her to be late."

"She's dead," he blurted. "She came home last night, we had an early dinner, she felt tired, went to bed early, and never woke up."

"Oh, I am so sorry," I responded as my mind was racing. "If you don't mind, I'm going to have you speak to the manager. There are likely certain personnel things she'll need to do, and she may have to ask you some questions."

"Undoubtedly."

Here, I saw the manager staring at me keenly. She disapproved of personal calls. I put him on hold, and told her the call on line 1 was for her.

She squinted with a mean look, as if I had wasted time. I knew it wasn't my place to announce to the staff what I had just heard. She took the phone receiver hurriedly from my hand and spoke in her crisp, professional, no-nonsense tone.

Then I watched her face crumble. She drew her breath in sharply. She looked at me, tears forming in her eyes.

I looked away, busying myself at my station. Which wasn't only by the end of the line but also very near the phone, which I was expected to answer most often, being the closest.

After the manager got off the phone, she broke the news to everyone there. A pall appeared instantly and hung over all of us. She needed to call to find out the procedure for this. Before a teller goes on vacation, or as in my case, leaves the branch to go on to my next assignment, the teller drawer is audited and cashed out. But it was always done with the teller present. What happens when the teller is not there?

As Ann and I had chatted during the week, I knew of several pending things she was working on and related those to the manager and Linda. It wasn't customary for a floating teller to work on them, but with Ann's demise, I'd likely be there at least another week. And I had more knowledge of those pending items than anyone else there.

We were nearly ready to open. If anyone asked about Ann, we were instructed to say simply she wasn't here today.

We opened precisely at 9:00 a.m. As with any Friday, it was a long day. I can't tell you  how many times I looked to my left, ready to say something to Ann, only to be met by a vacuous gaping hole. I was able to work on the pending items and complete them. One customer asked about Ann when I had called him with the follow-up information he needed. I said simply, "Ann's not here today, but we didn't get the information we needed to answer your question until now, and we didn't want you to have to wait for the answer, so I'm calling on her behalf."

The manager happened to be near me when I said that, and her eyes filled. We exchanged glances for hardly a moment then both looked away. I was just coming back from break, and there was a lobby full of people waiting.

After we closed for the day and were settling our drawers, the manager said we'd need to close out Ann's drawer. We'd have to fine count, meaning everything had to be hand counted, including bundled money. Ann had prepared for Friday by having nearly her limit in her drawer so she'd be ready to go.

The manager and Linda started counting the money. Dual control is standard operating procedure in a bank. Tears streamed down the manager's face. Linda dropped tears as she wrote down the totals. I stepped in to help count while the manager blew her nose. The head teller took the money I handed to her as carefully as if it were a raw egg poised on a spoon. 

There was one pending item awaiting resolution. Ann had written everything down in her tidy cursive handwriting. The head teller took the paper and held it close. She said she would do the follow-up.

It was such a strange suddenly. Small talk, a few smiles, some pending nondescript items to take care of for a tomorrow that didn't come.

I went on to work at other branches several days later. I didn't have to experience having to tell customers about Ann's passing, and by my next stint there, enough time had elapsed that no one would have thought to ask. 

The manager was still stern, although a good deal kinder. Linda was glad to see me, as always.

I haven't thought of those people in a long, long time. I wish them well, wherever they are.