Darlene wakes up, she rolls over onto her left side facing her bathroom door, her eyes barely open, she wishes she didn’t leave her thick fleece blanket on her last night because now her hair is damp and matted at the base of her neck. Too lazy to adjust her pyjama bottoms that have now bunched up above her knees, she lays there uncomfortable, too tired to care. As Darlene stretches her arms over her head, reaching for the wall between the rod iron bars of her headboard, she regrets staying up until 1am to finish her recently bought season box set of Sex and the City.
After ten more minutes of lying in bed, Darlene makes her way over to the kitchen counter, which is not separated from her bedroom. Brewing up a fresh pot of coffee, Darlene looks over at her Magic Bullet that she received from her brother as a Christmas gift. She thinks to herself that tomorrow she’s going to wake up earlier and make a smoothie, adding flaxseed, like Dr. Oz recommended on his show she watched the day before.
Buttoning up her white ruffled blouse with her left hand, Darlene slides on her pointy-toe, black leather heels for work. About to unlock and head out her door, she throws on her coat, downs her coffee and heads to her Mazda, which is covered in salt.
Arriving at work, Darlene looks up at the big yellow letters of the RBC sign and sighs. She makes her way over to her designated wicket, smiling and lightly waving to her colleagues that have already arrived and have made themselves comfortable at their own work stations. Looking at her colleagues, she spots Chris, another teller, and wonders if he is interested in her. Placing her Banana Republic trench coat on the coat rack, Darlene sits down in her cushioned computer chair. Googling new possible hairstyles, she waits for the bank to open.
Darlene never really wanted to be a bank teller. This job was simply an opportunity that arose because of her first cousin being the bank manager. Her ideal situation would be to have her own event planning company in downtown Halifax. However, she knows that because her dad was gone before she was born and her mom died two years ago, leaving her and her brother with nothing but debt, she would never have the capital needed to start up her own business.
As the customers start to file in and form a line, Darlene smiles to the first customer and motions him to come over to her wicket. As the man proceeds to question Darlene about the benefits of RRSPs, Darlene slides the back of her shoes off her heels and puts her heels back into them; she repeats this over and over. While the man talks, she notices she is more interested in the sensation in the balls of her heels rather than the man’s questions.
Once Darlene answers the man’s questions, and he leaves, she motions to the next man in line. As he walks over Darlene thinks to herself “This should be fun”. The man is wearing ripped, dirty blue jeans. His sneakers look as if they were found in the garbage and his plaid jacket looked like something Pig Pen from Charlie Brown would wear. When the man arrives at Darlene’s wicket he gives her a warm smile, and she notices he looks like what Santa would look like the other 364 days of the year. The man goes on to ask her about different loan options. He admits to her he is nervous he’s going to lose his house and he’s scared because he has a wife who is severely sick and two small daughters. Instead of playing with her shoes, Darlene thinks to herself that being a bank teller isn’t so bad.
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