Monday, February 28, 2011

Got Lysol?

I love working the drive-up window. No smells. No customers that lean into your personal space. Just a pane of glass between me and the outside world. And transactions that are (normally) short and sweet. 

The smells, though, they are the number one reason for loving the drive. Because let's face it, most people do not smell like roses. Especially the lower-class of small town America. Yes, maybe I'm stereotyping. And yes I'm positive there are people of all classes that deal with hygiene problems, but my "usual" customers are not supermodels, or millionaires. They are blue collar workers, the unemployed, small business owners; local, small town Americans. Of course I would never bash those labels, because I am a small town, American girl myself; but how hard is it to take care of yourself? Not hard if most people manage to do it. 

Of course we all have days that we sweat and get dirty, and sometimes may not smell so pleasant. However, those sweaty aromas are nothing compared to the smells of other causes of body odors. And I was surprised at how many people, who are bank customers, are entered into the 'smells of other causes of body odors' category. 

This has been on my mind all day because of one customer. A regular. A regular, who normally does not leave a pleasant odor, but never has it been this bad. When the customer walked up to my station, at first, I didn't notice the smell that followed her. But once it hit my nostrils, it took all of me to hold back the gags.  I kept trying to breath through my mouth, but somehow I was still conscious of the smell. It was all I could think about. That smell. I couldn't even describe it if you ask me to. Just imagine the most horrid, awful stench; then times that by 10. 
I kept counting down the seconds until the customers departure. I tried to hide the nauseation and disgust I felt inside, but much to my dismay some of the feelings must have showed. One of my coworkers patted me on the back. Letting me know she felt my pain. 

Once the lobby was free of customers, the Lysol surfaced, bringing my manic Monday to a start. 

And once again, I am left wondering why.. why am I a bank teller?

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