Applied Ethics in Banking

Oh my Lord. What do you do?

There come times in a person’s life where they aren’t the focus of any given situation. No one is relying on your every move as to how to proceed, life will continue to move on without your decisive action, and you’d likely be relegated to the background if someone were to make a diorama of the scenario for a class project. (Diorama? Where did that one come from, Condon?) Yeah, you’d be the guy in the diorama that is glued to the back of the shoebox, if not drawn free-hand on the cardboard altogether. Look, this isn’t your show, so just be happy to be a part of it. But then again, this is a stupid analogy. Kids don’t still make dioramas for class projects these days, do they? It finishes a close second for “Dumbest Education Tool” behind the ever-popular hangar-mobile book report.

(Besides after you moved out, your parents may have reverted your diorama back to, I don’t know, a box in which to hold shoes.)

The point of that ramble was simply this: even if you aren’t standing center stage, that doesn’t mean you are not going to react to a situation. It’s a human tendency to show some range of emotion or reaction – that’s the cause-and-effect relationship that life actually brings. It’s remarkable the number of activities you carry out on a daily basis that have zero bearing on anyone else’s life. Standing in line at the supermarket staring at the Tic-Tac display is not going to spawn endless blog material on the cashier’s blog. But say you snapped your fingers and the Tic-Tac display exploded into a million pieces. The other people in line would have to react, right?

Here’s why I bring it up.

The other day, I stepped out of work on my lunch hour to deposit a few checks at my local Wachovia Bank. Now while Nordberg the Teller must have had the day off, that did not dissuade me from ensuring that our funds were replenished courtesy of the reimbursements I had in hand. Now unless someone has decided that it’s a beautiful day for a stick-up, going to the bank and making a simple transaction is about as mundane as it gets. You walk in, you wait in line, you exchange pleasantries and small talk, you receive you receipt, you gank a root beer-flavored lollipop. You leave.

No time for reaction.

And this is precisely how I expected the day’s bank run to transpire. However, Mr. Khaki Suit had an audible in his hip pocket, and wasn’t afraid to call it (he must also be a MasterCard holder, the preferred credit card of audible-lover Peyton Manning.) As I stood at Banking Window 8 (of 16!!), I leaned casually against the granite countertop while Mr. Keck (Nordberg, do you know him?) processed my checks to deposit. Mr. Khaki Suit, who coincidentally was wearing a suit entirely the color of khaki, finished his business three kiosks to my right, and made his way behind me towards the exit of the bank. Why was I following his every move? I was watching as he fiddled with his iPhone, staring down at it while he walked briskly towards daylight.

At the end of the row of teller windows is a floor-to-ceiling glass window. Because the good people at Wachovia insist on the utmost professionalism, it had likely been squeegeed and Windexed mere hours before opening. The window represents the far left end of the wall of the hallway that will take you to freedom. One step around it, and you’re free to go about your day.

Mr. Khaki Suit knows this…now.

Now I could have sworn I saw him glance up from his iPhone to acknowledge where the wall ends and the absence of wall begins, but his gait kept a brisk pace that made me worry for his intended path. I remember my train of thought as if it were just leaving the station. “Ain’t no way he didn’t see that window. He’ll veer.”

WHAM.

Headfirst, Mr. Khaki Suit collided with the unlikeliest of enemies – a plate-glass floor-to-ceiling bank window. His iPhone slid across the slate floor, his wallet fell out of his other hand, and he staggered backwards, absolutely stunned. (His khaki suit, on the other hand, remained wrinkle-free and dapper. Amazing.) Now I am standing a good 12 yards away, far away enough to not be the required assistant to Khaki Suit’s recovery, but close enough to be an eye witness should the plate-glass window press charges.

Oh my Lord. What do you do?

Hey, root-beer flavored lollipop. Neat.