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Rich Girl



I was running low on cash. Getting on Club MTV was looking easier than getting a bank account in this town. 

I had brought my cashier's check from Ohio with me to the Citibank next to Penn Station. But the branch associate with a very trim mustache denied my application for the same employment and housing reasons I had already heard at Chemical Bank and Manufacturers Hanover. Apparently, I looked homeless. 

"But I have a credit card with you here," I said. "I'm a customer in good standing, no, great standing." 

"That's wonderful, sir. But that's a separate national division. Local branches are run by local policies and regulations." 

Code Red. My chest tightened as I whirled out through the revolving doors. I had to keep trying. Immediately.

I sprinted to the Chase Manhattan branch two blocks from the Citibank. Once inside, I took a cleansing breath and pulled back my hunched shoulders. Mrs. Washington greeted me warmly, guiding me to her smoked-plastic cubicle. Once seated I pulled out my $1,500 check hidden in my suit's breast pocket, ready to prove my worth. 

"So you would like to open a checking account with us."

"Yes, yes, I would. I just moved here, and I've seen your branches all over town." 

Mrs. Washington then turned no-nonsense as she asked the questions on the new accounts form. "Your place of employment?"

"Well, I arrived from Ohio last Saturday. I just had a great interview at a PR agency yesterday. If that doesn't work out, I have some other opportunities." 

"Home address?"

"Right now, I'm staying right over here at the Sloane House YMCA. Once I get a job, I'll get an apartment through a roommate service." 

"Do you have any personal references in the city?"

"Hmm. I just ran into someone who lived in my freshman dorm. And I have the phone number of a friend of a friend from school, but we haven't met up yet." 

"Mr. Henne, are you for real?" she asked bluntly before revealing just a hint of a bright smile. 

"I am, Mrs. Washington, I swear!" I giggled to mask my growing desperation. God, what if I couldn't get a checking account? "I'm just trying to get established." I shrugged, not knowing how else to convince her. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it would be this hard." 

The hint of a smile again. "I understand. Wait here a minute?"

She rose with the form she had tried to fill in and walked out, deeper into the offices. 

Oh, man. My brain swirled with ideas on what to do next. I could send the cashier's check back home and have Mom send the cash to me by Western Union? Or money order?

In crisis mode now, my eyes darted around the cube landing on the items on her desk. Her adding machine. A photo of her smiling brightly with her kids. A box of tissues -- I would need those when she kicked me out of there.  

By the time she returned, I was ready to ask her advice on other banks that might take me as a client. 

"OK, Mr. Henne. These are your starter checks until your actual checks arrive. We'll use your Sloane House address for those." 

"Really? My eyes widened with both relief and disbelief.

"Yes, really." This time she had the same big smile from her family photo.  

"Now do you want an ATM card? I recommend them to all my customers."

"Oh, yes, please. I had one last year at school." 

Once I signed a few forms, Mrs. Washington extended her hand across her desk. "Welcome to Chase Manhattan and New York, Mr. Henne." 

I shook her hand and lowered my head in gratitude. "I can't thank you enough, Mrs. Washington. I promise I won't let you down." 

"You better not," she admonished just like a good mom. She then grinned and winked. 

I still have that checking account today. 

Photo by Alec Favale on Unsplash






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