Exorbitant Interest

Cashier Number 4 must have sensed someone looking at her. For she looked up, and she stared at me, looking me directly in the eye. She stared at me, looking me directly in the eye ... and showed not the slightest sign of recognition.

After all, why would she? I had been beneath her feet – and beneath her notice. And she had not deigned to otherwise acknowledge my lowly presence. Not verbally. And not even by so much as a look.

Upon hearing a familiar, raised and cruelly castigating voice, I looked over at the Customer Services Desk, from where the harsh and belittling tones were coming from. The bank manager, Miss Harding, was mercilessly berating yet another of the N&G's errant customers. An elderly man who, I guessed, wouldn't see 80 again ...

"The Northern and General Bank takes a very dim view – a very dim view indeed, Arthur – upon customers who go overdrawn on their savings accounts," intoned Miss Harding coldly.

"Unauthorised overdrafts, Arthur, are a very serious matter ... and are sanctionable," added Miss Harding, ominously. And the receptionist, Penny, nodded in total agreement.

From where I was standing, I could see the receptionist's now bare legs, under the open space of the Customer Services Desk. Penny had the proverbial Million-Dollar-Legs, I thought. They were all-the-way-to-her-armpits long, and very shapely. And tanned to a bronzed, eye-catching perfection ... Certainly, they were catching my eye.

And, from the very tips of the toes of one, exquisitely tanned bare foot, precariously dangled one of Penny's black leather office pumps. And the actions of her toes, I saw, was causing her dangling pump to swing to and fro, in accordance to the varying ... stimulus, of the interview with the elderly defaulter.

As the receptionist stared at the overdrawn (and overwrought!) customer, a cruel, callous smirk formed at the corners of her mouth. She was enjoying herself. Enjoying herself very much. I could tell – it was all in the way that she dangled her pump.

The receptionist was clearly enjoying witnessing the great discomfiture – the trepidation – of the visibly trembling elderly man before her. Who was timidly explaining his reasons for going overdrawn: the price of gas, these days; of electricity; of food – of everything. And his pension simply wasn't keeping pace, with such run-away inflation. With such ever-increasing, unaffordable prices ... And in her hand, I could see that Penny already had her 'remote' ready ... Ready to ZAP!

I knew what was going to happen next. And I didn't need – or want – to watch it. I headed for the exit.

As I was going out of the front door, I heard the snapping-and-locking sound of the restraining straps on the elderly man's ... rail chair, securing him firmly into place. Poor Arthur, I thought.

Dad had a point. He was right, after all, it seemed ... about the appalling attitude of bank staff, these days.

The last thing I heard, was the unchallengeable finality of Miss Harding's cold and contemptuous decree: "I've heard enough ... Take him away, please, Penny."

* * *

I walked along High Street in a dream state. And I was amazed to discover when I looked at my watch, that it was now 5:15. Which meant that I had actually been in the Long Room of the Northern and General Bank, for over two hours ... Well, they say that time flies when you are enjoying yourself!

For over two hours, in the Long Room of the Northern and General Bank, where the four serene-looking female bank cashiers sat comfortably, upon their black padded-leather stools, atop their elevated (and elevating) platform – like queens, upon their thrones – in my 'rail chair', I had been shunted into each of their 'stations', on the Northern and General Line.

Where my face – and the faces of other defaulters – as a sanction, had been made conveniently available to the four bank cashiers' absentminded, backwards reaching, exploring, rubbing, toying – but, most of all, possessing – dark-hosed feet.

As I walked about the town centre, dazedly I mused upon my amazing, fantastic – and, most of all, fulfilling – experience, in the Long Room of the Northern and General Bank.

The four female bank cashiers of the Northern and General Bank had – each of them, in their own, individual and unique way – seemingly absentmindedly, 'gone to town' on my available face, with their backwards reaching, dark-hosed, possessing feet.

And they had – each and every one of them – satisfied my craving. A craving, that was a craving like no other.

And how!

As I ambled along the busy streets of the town centre, I re-lived, over and over, the thrilling details. Details, that were branded into my memory for ever!

I couldn't get over it. I just couldn't!

Today, at the breakfast table, my dad had complained, bitterly and resentfully, about ... exorbitant interest.

But, today, I had indulged myself in a different kind of exorbitant interest – my own, personal brand, of exorbitant interest. An interest, that in my dad's own words, was "Far too much, and far beyond, and far in excess of what is reasonable, and what would be considered normal by most people, son."

And I wasn't complaining.

Because today, in my 'rail chair', 'stationed' at the dark-hosed feet of the four female bank cashiers of the Northern and General Bank, I had been provided with a shrine.

A shrine. At which to demonstrate the sincerity of my regards. To pay my heartfelt respects. To offer my humble devotions.

A shrine. At which to honour. To praise. To revere. To adore. To worship, the four female bank cashiers of the Northern and General Bank ... my foot goddesses.

Who – seemingly absentmindedly, as though it was second-nature, to them – with their backwards reaching, comprehensively possessing, dark-hosed feet, went to town on my available face ...

Thereby indulging, my exorbitant interest.

Thereby satisfying, my craving – a craving, that was a craving like no other.

So that I knew ...

Fulfilment.

* * *

Somehow – as though my subconscious had been at work; as though the machinations of my mind were such, that my dazed reverie had directly led me there – I came to realise that, in the daydreams of my musings I had actually been standing outside of, and sightlessly staring into, the biggest bank in town: the local branch of the largest bank in the country – the Town and City Bank.

It was 5:25 ... and the Town and City Bank closed at 5:30.

Coming to my senses – and comprehending perfectly, why I was here – I pushed open the door, and entered the Town and City Bank.

The first thing I noticed, was that there was a sloping walkway, leading up towards the bank cashiers' windows ... twelve of them, in total.

As I walked towards the Customer Services Desk, the automated female voice brightly announced: "Cashier number seven, please!"

And, as the man at the head of the queue responded as directed, I glanced over at the bank cashiers – all of them female – who were dealing with the bank's patiently queuing customers from behind their bank cashiers' windows.

And I couldn't help but notice, that the twelve female Town and City bank cashiers – who varied greatly, both in their ages, and in the attractiveness of their appearances – all seemed to have one, very strange thing in common: They all looked ... serene.

The twelve female Town and City bank cashiers, all had a happy – but, no ... it was more that, much more ... a sort of dreamy, preoccupied, far-away, complacently contented expression on their faces, as they sat behind their bank cashiers' windows ...

And, once again, I found myself consumed, with my ... exorbitant interest.

An interest, that in my dad's own words, was "Far too much, and far beyond, and far in excess of what is reasonable, and what would be considered normal by most people, son."

For I was thinking ...

Thinking ... about how I should go about satisfying my craving – a craving, that was a craving like no other.

And I was thinking ...

Thinking ... that there were another four or five banks (apart from the Northern and General) in the town centre. And I would have to get myself around to them all, in due course.

I must have stood and stared for some moments, at the twelve female Town and City bank cashiers' serene faces. For I was sharply brought out of my reverie, by the harsh voiced, acerbic-tongued receptionist, sitting on the other side of the Customer Service Desk. "Can I help you?" she inquired waspishly; her tone of voice making it plain that helping me was the furthest thing from her mind.

The receptionist was young – about my own age – and, olive-complexioned, she was really quite stunning, I thought. She was brunette, and her hair was glossy, of shoulder-length and styled in attractive, lustrous ringlets. And you could easily lose yourself, I quickly found, in the alluring depths of her dark brown – almost black – searching and speculating eyes.

And, as I approached the receptionist, I couldn't help but notice, under the open space of the Customer Service Desk, that a dark blue leather office pump – of the type that all of the female staff of the Town and City Bank wore, as an integral part of their uniform – was dangling precariously from the very tips of her tan-hosed toes.

The pump-dangling receptionist, who sat, importantly, at the Customer Service Desk of the Town and City Bank – and, who's name tag, I now saw, declared her to be Dolores – boldly gazed at me, appraisingly. She regarded me with an arrogant, superior air ... as though I was beneath her notice.

And, I couldn't help but notice, that on the receptionist's desk was a small, black device, of about the same shape and size of a mobile phone ...

Haughtily, disdainfully, the receptionist, Dolores, continued to stare at me – glare at me – for some moments ... waiting.

I felt like a rabbit, caught in the glare of powerful, inescapable – irresistible – headlights. Its fate ... about to be sealed.

Then, when the brief moment of silence quickly outlasted her patience, the short-tempered receptionist addressed me again, irritably repeating her question.

In contemptuous, belittling tones, she snapped, "Well, come on – I haven't got all day! I said: Can I help you?"

"Yes, please, Miss," I said.

"I'd like to take out a Personal Loan ... And a savings account ... And some credit cards ..."

THE END.