Get off at the bank

You came all this way to open an account. Teasing is fun, but right now you need to make sure your money is safe. Who knows where Sue is or what she might spend your money on if she finds your checkbook.

Even though it isn't quite lunchtime you spend a long time in the queue. You're very thankful you talked yourself out of wearing heels. At last you get to a teller and talk to her about opening a new account. Everything seems to go well and you're sent to a comfy waiting area until the manager can talk to you.

While you wait you continue your game from the bus, crossing your legs or changing the way you're sitting and then attempting to count how many people are checking you out. You wish you had a book or something, but this is pretty entertaining.

A taller man in a suit steps out of one of the doors across from you. He's definitely checking you out and you return the favor. He's got to be over six feet tall, pretty athletic and handsome. Either he's very tanned or his family is from the Mediterranean, quite possibly with a helping of northern Africa thrown in.

He smiles at you and says "Hi, I'm Dylan Monti, the manager at this branch; and you must be Ms. Lewis."

Oh crap. Right, you were waiting for a manager. Still, he doesn't seem unhappy that you're checking him out. Mr. Monti takes you back to his office and you sit down across the desk from him. Everything in here looks and smells new.

He clicks at a few things on his computer and then turns to you. "Ms. Lewis I'm afraid that much as I'd like to this branch can't open an account for you."

You feel something sinking in the bottom of your stomach. "Why not?" you ask, trying to keep the trepidation out of your voice.

"Your credit history is bad, extremely bad," says Mr. Monti, turning the screen to face you. It shows you a long list of comments and a number so low it would be a fail no matter what scoring system they have.

"Um" is all you can get out, looking at what Sue has done. No bank wants that as a customer. "A lot of these are old news. I've changed my ways." You can't possibly describe just how true that is.

"I'm afraid the only way you could get an account here ... or perhaps anywhere, would be with some form of parental or spousal guarantee. Or a full time job in an acceptable industry. Or ... with a waiver from a branch manager."

And now you know why the bank manager decided to talk to you in person.