I went to the bank to deposit some money the other day. The bank is a respectable place: People wear suits, make disapproving glances and handle money. The bank is a place where you should be somber and professional.
The bank is not a place to make an idiot out of yourself.
However, if you are me and you are well-acquainted with idiocy, especially in inappropriate places, you will sympathize with me in what occurred in the 1st National Bank.
I finished with school at 5:30 p.m., so I was cutting it a little close when I waltzed in at 5:45. I knew the bank closed at 6 p.m., but I also knew I could be a speedy depositer, so I went in anyway. I propped my sunglasses up over my ponytail and was quick like a bunny filling out the paperwork.
I went up to the desk and the bank lady gave me a strange look, which I assumed was because it was so close to the end of their day, so I apologized profusely about being late. Then, several other women stood around and stared at me while she deposited my money, which I thought was weird, but maybe bank people are really cliquey or they work in small herds, I don’t know – I’m bad at math, this is why I’m a writer.
Several minutes later, I finally left the staring herd, feeling more self-conscious than anyone should feel walking out of a bank. It’s not like I was turned down for a loan or told my house was being repossessed – how dare those mean, suited bank ladies make me feel like this!
Only when I got to the car did I realize what they were staring at: it was a stage-five twanger. And it was bad.
If you are not well-versed in hair lingo, (as I so clearly am) let me tell you, a twanger is about the worst thing you can have (aside from a mullet). Imagine Alfalfa from “Little Rascals” and you kind of get the idea. However, a twanger doesn’t have to stick straight up, oh no. A twanger is pretty much a rogue lock of hair that does whatever it chooses, in whichever direction it chooses, which is not only embarrassing, it is also quite dangerous.
And on this particular day, when I had so nonchalantly propped those sunglasses up on my head, the bangs that are growing out had been pushed up and to the side in such a way that a lock of my hair was sticking out above my ear, perpendicular to my head.
I had a 90-degree-angle hair twanger.
It’s times like these when you wish all of womankind would band together and help a sister out, instead of gathering together like a pack, waiting to pick off the weakest one in the herd.
I am never going to the bank again.
Hilary Davis is a senior technical journalism major. Her column appears Wednesdays in the Collegian. Replies and feedback can be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org.