It was something Jack had done a hundred times before, something that had almost become second nature to him. Thus, it came as a complete surprise to him when the teller behind the wicket in his bank visibly blanched when he handed her the withdrawal slip.
"This...this is a withdrawal slip?" she asked in disbelief.
"Yes," Jack replied. "It is. Very perceptive of you..."
"Does that mean that you...that you want to take money out of your account?" the teller asked, choking back a sob.
"That is what it has meant every other time I handed a withdrawal slip to a teller," Jack sarcastically remarked. "It seemed like a workable system, and I see no reason to change it now..."
"You want to withdraw $20?" the woman squeaked. Jack felt certain she was on the verge of fainting.
"Is something wrong?" Jack, finally concerned, asked.
"I'll get the manager," the teller informed him, and disappeared. A minute later, a three piece suit appeared behind the wicket, the trust manager conveniently inside it. The teller cowered by his side. "Miss Wimble-Watney informs me that you'd like to withdraw $20 from your account," he cheerfully stated.
"Yes...?" Jack replied, confused.
"Well," the trust manager smiled mischievously, "are you sure that you want to...withdraw all this money from our trust company at this time? After all, you will be losing thousands of dollars in interest."
"Thousands of dollars?" Jack asked, incredulous. "Isn't that a lot of interest on $20?"
The trust manager stuck his hands in his vest pockets and tried not to look concerned. "Oh," he said, "not if you leave it in for three or 400 years. Why don't you try it and see?"
"I can't," Jack loudly protested. "I need the money to buy some groceries. Now, can I please have it?"
"Well..." the trust manager, still cheerful, seemed regretful. "Mr. ...Plumb, is it? Well, Mr. Plumb, no. You can't have it. Thank you for thinking of us - do drop by again!"
"Why can't I have my money?" Jack wanted to know.
"Why can't he?" the manager asked the teller, only partly rhetorically.
"Don't ask me. I'm going on holiday!" she answered and ran off.
The manager looked after her for a moment, then looked outraged. "Well, that's bloody typical, isn't it?" he fumed. "You take them into your company, train and nurture them and what do they do? At the first sign of a crisis, they run out on you!"
"Look," Jack insisted, ignoring the line behind him that was both forming and stirring impatiently, "why can't I make a withdrawal?"
"Umm..." the manager panicked for a moment. "Because...because! Because, because, because, because...there's no money!"
"In my account?" Jack asked in disbelief.
"No - yes! Yes," the manager said, relieved. "There's no money in your account. Sorry. Do come again."
"That's not possible!" Jack angrily shouted. "I was in only last week, and my updated pass book showed that I have over $500 in my account!"
"Really?" The manager picked Jack's pass book up off the counter and leafed through it. Carelessly throwing the pass book over his shoulder, the man reasonably and cheerfully stated, "Ah, I think I see where the problem is. You see, you've been taking money out of your account through our mechanical tellers. Those withdrawals don't show up on your pass book, you see. Damned tricky things, these plastic cards - before you know it, you've spent all your money!"
"You don't have mechanical tellers," Jack coldly responded.
"We don't?"
"No, you don't."
"Not even one?"
"Not even a little one."
"Damn! What a waste of a good excuse."
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
The manager lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Actually," he admitted, "We haven't got any money."
Jack couldn't believe it. "What, none?"
"Not a cent, I'm afraid," the manager cheerfully stated. "But, please don't tell any of the other customers. I'm afraid they wouldn't understand, and we wouldn't want to start a panic, now, would we?"
"I don't believe it!" Jack exclaimed.
"Trust me," the manager smiled warmly. "I should know."
"But, how can such a thing happen?" Jack, stunned, asked.
"Would you believe that we're waiting for the Brinks truck?" the manager pleasantly responded.
"No," Jack said., "I wouldn't. You should have reserves on hand at all times. Certainly, enough to cover a $20 withdrawal."
"Very good! I didn't think you were the type who would fall for such a patently flimsy and absurd excuse!"
"Thanks, but I'm not going to fall for cheap flattery, either."
"Good...good. I'm glad we understand each other. I suppose you know that Burford Trust was recently purchased by Profits, Inc.?"
"I guess I read something about it in the papers..."
"Well," the manager explained, unable to keep a cheerful grin off his face, "Profits, Inc. needed all of our reserves to buy some land it wanted to develop. Every last dollar we had, in fact. So, they took it. I hear they're planning to build a theme park around the imposition of the War Measures Act in 1970."
"They took all the money?"
"I couldn't get a quarter to make a phone call if I needed it."
"But, how could they do something like that?"
"They do own the trust company, sir."
"But...but, you need to have reserves on hand..."
"Oh, I wouldn't go worrying the government about that if I were you. They have their own financial problems."
"So, what am I supposed to buy my groceries with?"
"Well, I think we might have something in three weeks. If you wouldn't mind getting your money in...installments of two dollars spread over...a year and a half?"
"But, I need it now!"
"Well, Mr. Lamb..."
"Plumb."
"Whatever. Your story has touched my heart." The manager pulled a wallet out of his pocket, removed a $20 bill and shoved it through the grate. "I really shouldn't, but, here. Take this."
"It is my money," Jack indignantly pointed out as he accepted the bill.
"Of course," the manager agreed, calmly turning up the sign that told customers to move to the next wicket. "Only, please, as a personal favour to me, don't tell any of the other people in line about this. Before you know it, they'll all want their money, too!"
