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“As I have already informed you several times; without identification, we have no way of knowing you are the person the check is made out to. If, as you claim, you a have an account here,” the teller looked at her dubiously, “simply deposit the check and withdraw the funds once the check clears.”
I could tell right away the prick behind the counter was not the type of man who could be bullied or would be sympathetic to her situation. Although he claimed to just be following the rules, it was obvious he was getting pleasure from the situation. I found him a very distasteful man and stepped beside Ember. “I’m afraid we don’t have time to wait for the check to clear.”
“And you are?” He asked.
“I am Aiden Billic with the RFD." I flashed my credentials. "Ms. Cano tragically lost her home to fire yesterday and needs to cash her paycheck in order to arrange for temporary housing.”
“As I informed her several times, I simply cannot cash any check without identification. Bank policy and all.”
The simplest thing would have been for me to lend Ember the $27 for a new driver's license and then bring her back to cash the check. But I could tell the officious little prick was pissing her off as much as he was me. In order to avoid any further confrontation, I said, “I’ll take out enough money to cover the check for you. Just endorse it over to me and I’ll deposit it in my account.”
“You would do that for me?”
“Sure why not.”
“I guess I’m just not used to men doing nice things for me.”
She signed over the check, and I handed it along with my ID to the teller. “I’d like to deposit this in my account and withdraw an equal amount in cash, please.”
When he pulled up my account, his eyes went wide. “Yes sir, Mr. Billic. I’ll get this taken care of for you right away.” He slid the money across the counter and I took my time counting it before handing it to Ember. “Is there anything else I can do for you or Miss Cano today, sir?”
“No, I think you’ve done more than enough.”
When we left the bank, Ember was still pissed off, "That guy was a real douche bag. People like him have been looking down their nose at me all of my life.”
“He was doing his job,” I said, even though I understood how she felt.
“Of course you feel that way. He treated you totally different. Yes, Mr. Billic. Right away Mr. Billic. Would you like me to suck your cock while you wait, Mr. Billic?”
I gave out a snort of choked laughter.
“Go ahead and laugh. But poor people get treated differently. Especially women. You didn’t see the way he looked at me when I told him I didn’t have identification. As far as he was concerned, I was the scum of the earth. Then you show up flashing your fireman’s identification and he’s falling all over himself to be helpful.”
I still did not know how much I trusted Ember, so I didn’t tell her the teller’s attitude change likely had more to do with my account balance than my profession. We crossed the street to where the DMV was. “Why am I wasting my breath? It’s easy for you, with your fancy house, good looks, and respectable career.”
“You think I’m good looking?” I smirked before opening the door to the license bureau.
“Get over yourself. I was just making a point. You could never understand how much tougher it is for people like me.”
I wanted to tell her how wrong she was, but it had taken me years to overcome my past and I was not comfortable talking about it with other people. Only Logan knew the entire story. Once she had her new license, I asked, “So where to next?”
Unlike the dark, musty place I envisioned, when Ember told me she wanted to go to the Thrift Shop, the store was as well-lit and neat as any shop at the Gatsby Park Mall. The clothing, displayed on chrome racks, was clean and in good condition. Most items looked brand new, and some still had the original tags on them. I was surprised to see most were priced under ten dollars. “This is way nicer than I expected,” I told her.
“Hang out with me for a while and you will learn where all the bargains are.” She looked up from the table of t-shirts she was inspecting and gripped her leather jacket by the lapels. “I bought this here last year for $20. It wasn’t even broken in before someone gave it away.”
She took her time, selecting a pair of jeans which looked brand new and a couple of tank-tops. We were halfway to the register when she stopped. “Shit, I almost forgot. I need a pair of black pants for work.”
“Didn’t you say you were fired yesterday?”
“I was. But I start at the Piggly Wiggly on Monday,” she said, while going through a rack of dress pants.
“With everything that happened yesterday, when did you have time to find a new job already?”
“Right after Al fired me, but before my car was stolen.” She studied the tag on a pair of pants. “These are my size. We can check out now."
On the way to Walmart, where she wanted to pick up underwear and a phone charger, I told her how impressed I was that she had found another job already. “Most people after being fired would have licked their wounds for a couple of days or applied for unemployment.”
“Licking my wounds won't pay my bills and living off of the government is my mother's style, not mine."
