Speaking of Banking...

[Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967]

Speaking of "banking..."  Alpo's query about credit card fees brought back a memory.  I've shared this before, but heck ~ here it is again!  

 

Spurs!

 

     Years ago, in a land far away - San Francisco - I was a banker. In that, I was a department head and project manager for a li'l outfit called Bank of America. I actually ran their Merchant Settlement department, and was responsible for daily deposits of 50 - 60 million dollars (probably the equivalent of 75 or 80 million in today's world).     But I was something of a misfit. I did well, had some very noteworthy successes, and made what I considered a lot of money. But, again, a "misfit." I was a country boy, mostly raised in Texas. Instead of riding buses and going to Giants games when growing up, I was wandering about looking for arrowheads, fishing for catfish, hunting, collecting old west artifacts I'd find, and so on.

     Well, there was a very rough period when BofA acquired Security Pacific National Bank. To make a long and colorful story a bunch shorter, we had some significant (as in BIG!) challenges. One of these was trying to make their accounting system interface with ours... there were just enough differences to make it a major headache.

     One Friday evening a bunch of us were gathered in a conference room... neckties (I hate 'em to this day) loosened, sleeves rolled up, bleary-eyed, on about our second gallon (apiece) of coffee for the day, gazing forlornly at a white board. The board was covered with flowcharts and "T" account charts, notes, and question marks. We'd reached an impasse... and after two weeks of 15 - 16 hour days without a day off, we were pretty zonked.

 

     So... I finally stood... walked to the board... picked up a pen and popped off the cap... and looked around the board...

     Someone behind me stage-whispered "Hey! Rod's figgered somethin’ out!!"

     Uh... no.  Actually, I was merely searching for a blank piece of board to write on... and when I made my selection, I carefully printed in block letters: "I WANT TO BE A COWBOY!"

     I capped the pen, and returned to my seat. You coulda heard a pin drop on the carpet for several minutes.

     Finally, the senior VP present stood, cleared his throat, and announced "It's time to go home. And NOBODY will work this weekend. Come in late on Monday and we'll pick up at about ten o'clock." And we all filed out.

     Monday morning, bright and early, I walked in to my office, set down my briefcase and draped my coat over a hanger, and headed for my desk... upon which was a nicely wrapped parcel.

     I sat, looked at it awhile, found a tag that said "To: Rod," and picked it up. 

     I put it to an ear – no ticking.  A good sign.  I sniffed it – no scent of volatile organic compounds.  I shook it – no discernible rattles.

     Carefully, I unwrapped the package.  

 

     And to my absolute delight found it to contain a pair of spurs!!

     Still have 'em, hanging on the back of a chair here at home.  And actually wear ‘em from time to time!