Someone Needs a Stress Ball

Around the office you can find promotional products everywhere. Custom hand sanitizer to keep your desk tidy, obviously promotional pens for taking notes, custom sports bottles to stay hydrated, and the trusted and sometimes silly custom stress relievers.

Of all these products, I've never held one over the other. But today after an incident at the bank, I'd like to get my hands on some promotional stress balls. No worries- they're not for me- There's just a finicky bald man somewhere that could reeeeeeeeally use one.  

Marisa and I ventured to the bank to pick up dough for my trip to Maine this evening. As we entered the bank, I didn't exactly feel welcomed. The high ceilings and top button done bank clerks glaring didn't give me that, Welcome!" kind of feeling. Then again, it's just a bank, and I shouldn't expect to get goose bumps like I do every time I enter into a Chucky Cheese.  

We walked in and actually had to search for the deposit/withdrawal slips. Around the corner, we found them. And standing over the slips, around the corner, was a short man filing out his own paperwork. Marisa stood to the side of him and placed her hand on the pile of slips. She delicately reached for a pen and brought it towards the slip. As she did this I watched the man glare at us and shake his head. Marisa must've felt his strife because she looked up and him right before he said, "Uuh, excuse me," rudely and scooted further away from us. 

His disgust in us was evident though we were completely unsure of why. Marisa, quick to satisfy the grump man, asked, "Did you need this pen?" He looked down feverishly and continued writing with the pen he already had and barked, "No."

Like the mature women Marisa and I are, we both began to giggle. Maybe it was because we were nervous he may have a stun gun ready to shock away our innocence. More likely it was because his anger spouted from nothing...and that's just...funny.

Right? Funny? WRONG.

The man kept his eyes glued to his bank statement as he said matter-of-factly, "And it's not funny!"

I really had to control myself because I was either going to laugh hysterically or scream at the jerky man.

We stayed silent as Marisa filled out her slip and walked away relived to be away from the sour apple. As we stood on line I said to Marisa, "That guys needs a promotional stress reliever."