bank on it

i like to go to the bank early in the morning, before it opens, to do my banking. mostly, it's because my super-discount student service plan allows me more free face time with the bank machine that it does with an actual teller. (on a side note, did you ever wonder why folks who work in a bank are called tellers? other than communicating the rather dismal fact of my rapidly declining bank balance, and making me privy to the workings of their accounts information system when i had to change the greeting on my monthly bank statement from "mr. smith" to "ms. smith" -- i kid you not --, tellers don't really tell you all that much. i personally think that every time i go to withdraw money for yet another shoe sale purchase, one of them should tell me to put it back and that i need another pair of shoes like i need a hole in the head, but alas that never happens.)

so banking in the early mornings ... yes. my bank is one of the banks in town that still resides in its 19th-century stone building and for that reason, it's quite imposing, if not a little chilly when approached from across the street while the sun is still settling in the sky. things change however, when you open the door, for sitting on the steps that lead up to the instant tellers is a funny little old man in a tilley hat and glasses playing an array of harmonics that he keeps in a tattered old canvas bag. he always greets folks who come in with a cheerful comment on the weather and then proceeds to play a jaunty tune while tapping his foot on the step. he'll stop somewhere in the thick of the over-embellished melody and turn to whoever is handy and say, "now that sounds good, don't it?". you can't help but smile and reply that it does. the accoustics of the stone building really bulk up the sound of his mouth organ, and he's just so darn happy while he's playing. he usually leaves by the time the bank opens at 9:30, and where he goes is a complete mystery. i've encountered him there in all seasons, and on all days of the week. he reminds me of a sort of happy little elf that a science fiction writer forgot to collect after he submitted his manuscript to the publishers.

i used to think that he was a little crazy, but this morning, i realized that he's just as sane as i am (maybe that's saying something). i barge into the building, and in order to hear him while he's speaking to me, i have to take the headphones to my iPod out of my ears. i'm tense and worrying about the vaguarities of my financial health (i consider myself currently "financially indisposed", a condition that sounds like something out of a jane austen novel), and i have to admit to being a little gruff with harmonica man. as i'm waiting for the machine to spit out my withdrawl, i realize that i shouldn't really be annoyed with him. he's found something that makes him happy, and he makes every person who comes through the glass doors of the bank smile. does this mean that i'm going to start haunting the loggia of stauffer and start tap dancing and playing a kazoo, probably not (though one can never tell what extremes one will be pushed to when one is shaping -- hacking, throttling, beating senseless -- one's dissertation), but i think i'm going to smile more, and try to be more direct in loving what i love. loving without shame isn't always easy for me, but it's something i'm slowly learning to do.