If you listen to the Lesbians Who Write podcast, you’ll know I’m truly awful when it comes to math. Side note, when I agreed to cohost with Clare Lydon, I didn’t factor in how many times I’d have to do calculations. I mean, I run an author business, but math…

Anyhoo, back to the story, which is about going to the bank.

I received refunds from my health and dental insurance, and instead of crediting my bank account, each sent me paper checks. They still exist!

Since I don’t receive them very much, I wasn’t sure the best way to deposit them into my account aside from going into the bank. So, after refreshing my memory of where to sign the back of the check and to tally the two numbers on a deposit slip (I used a calculator), I marched off the bank wearing a mask.

Can I just say how weird it is to walk into a bank wearing a mask? Effing weird.

I stated my purpose and slid the papers into the window bucket. (There has be to a better phrase for this.)

The woman looked at me, the checks, and the deposit slip. Then she did something that still blows my mind. She asked me if I’d written eighty-five cents or ninety-five. I admit, I have terrible handwriting, but shouldn’t a bank teller be able to add two amounts on the spot? I couldn’t, hence why I never applied to work at a bank.

Also, I was wearing one of my silly cartoon T-shirts, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. Nothing about my appearance exuded math skills or adult-like qualities. People simply don’t take me seriously, and I’m totally fine with that. I don’t like the pressure. Another reason why I never applied to work at a bank.

I said I think it’s ninety-five, but I wasn’t sure, because I couldn’t remember the total, and my handwriting is truly that bad.

I warned her she shouldn’t trust my math, but she ignored that part and entered the number into her computer.

I couldn’t believe it, and after leaving the bank, I went for my walk. One question kept rolling around in my head: Will there be a warrant for my arrest if I was off by ten cents?