Bank drive-through line wait is proportional to how soon you must be at work

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This is the scenario: If I am not at work in 10 minutes I will no longer have a need for banks, which is where I happen to be right now, cruising in my car across the parking lot at Warp Factor Get-Your-#$%&*-Out-of-My-Way as I race for the convenient drive-through Teller Windows from Hell.

This is not to say the tellers themselves are from hell. The tellers are always very nice to me and do little extras, like slip me an extra $1 million (ha, ha, that’s a teller-related joke for the bank management). But drive-through windows are the spawn of Satan.

As I swerve into the driveway on two wheels I see that three windows are open and two cars are in line at each window. An optimist would say I had a 33.3 percent chance of choosing the window that would become available quickest; a pessimist would say I had a 33.3 percent chance of choosing the slowest, and then he would run over the optimist. I choose the middle window.

But nobody is moving, which means ALL the windows are slowest, and this is beginning to resemble a visit to the Twilight Zone. Since nobody is behind me, I back up and wait.

Immediately, an entire six-lane expressway of cars appears in my rear-view mirror, which means I must commit to a window or be lost forever in Drive-Through Limbo. I choose the window to my right.

The lead car at the far-left window zooms away. Then the lead car at the middle window zooms away. Then the other car at the far-left window zooms away. I am ready to start loading rifles.

Meanwhile, the original lead car at my window is STILL sitting there, its driver probably not aware that if he does not hurry up and conclude the stupid little piece of banking tripe he is conducting; major exploratory surgery on his brain will begin via tire iron.

Finally, the lead car at my window lumbers off, and the person directly ahead of me, who is riding a motorcycle of all things, lumbers up the window.

I wait. And wait. And wait. Generations live and die as I wait. Civilizations rise and fall, the sun explodes, the universe stops expanding as I wait.

I begin studying the person ahead of me, the way a driver who is contemplating shifting his car into gear and running over that person would study him. My acute powers of observation – not to mention the fact that I overhear him – tell me he is making a withdrawal, which everyone knows is the dumbest, most time-consuming business matter you can conduct at a drive-through window, short of having your entire credit history set to the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

Finally he finished. He goes through a checklist of motorcycle-related safety measures that would shame most airline pilots, and then he leaves. It’s my turn.

As I insert my money and deposit slip into the handy Pneumatic Tube from Hell, a motorist behind me races his engine.

Hey buddy, I think. Chill out.

This column was published in the Thursday, Aug. 18, 1988 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .