At work my co-worker and I found this link for a competition on (what better than) blog writing. Our mission was to write a "blog" and 1000 words or less about our first day working at US Bank. We found the link at noon on the last day of the competition with a deadline of 3 O'clock. So in the midst of Friday rush we both typed away madly trying to make every last second between transactions count. In the middle of a transaction I quickly copy and pasted and submitted my final product at a close 2:57...this is what I wrote, let's hope I win! (I could get an IPad) ;]
My First Day! My First Day! Oh, what a day it was. No we didn’t get robbed…and no we didn’t book a million dollar loan…and no…I didn’t make a complete fool of myself by pronouncing OPS manual, “oops manual”, but yes, it was still day to remember. I sat in my car the morning of, waiting anxiously for the clock to tick away, taking deep breathes, watching people walk by with their children and dogs, both on leashes, wondering how many of those people I would later learn to know, I would of never guessed it would be so many. I repeatedly brushed my tingling fingers through my blonde hair trying to uncurl every knot, reapplying yet another layer of lipstick after I had chewed off all the others anxiously. Finally the clock had approached and I felt like I was taking a flying leap kicking one high-heel out of the car, and then another; I was practically sky diving. I walked up to the small one handled door, above me the hundred year old wooden US Bank sign creaked me a gentle greeting, and that’s when I did it, placed my hand on the silver knob, turned and pushed- the door jerked but nothing happened. Again I turned and pushed hearing the door catch it self again and again. I looked around clueless for what seemed like forever, until I heard the sound of a key shuffling from the other side of the door. Within a moment I was standing face to face with an average height red head with a beaming smile, who would soon become not only my co-worker and TC, but one of my closest friends.
“Next time, ring the door bell”, she said still sporting a smile, eyes darting over to the small round door bell I had been too confused to acknowledge. I laughed nervously and she welcomed me, opening the door just wide enough for me to walk in. The small branch seemed smaller than a cheap New York apartment. Three steps you’re at teller row, another three steps you’re hitting the back door…okay, it’s not that small, but it’s close. My manager walked me through the branch, showing me a break room with a table, a few chairs, a microwave that will later take me 10 minutes to figure out how to work, a fridge full of food far beyond their expiration date, and a broken dishwasher; she took me into a small office that had a large white board completely covering one wall that had dry erase marker plastered all over it with words and numbers that might as well been written in Chinese because I didn’t understand one abbreviation on the board.
“These are our shred bins, this will be your window”, she said taking me in circles. I remember watching her float across the branch as if it was her kitchen, pulling out GL’s like cookies from her oven, calling every costumer by first name, her playful back and forth in every transaction, just some of the things that what made this small town branch truly feel like home.
Most of the day was spent in front of the computer screen, reading and taking tests, watching videos, wondering to myself how I would act if some day someone told me “Give me all your money”. How would I react? What would I do? I asked myself this often in my first few weeks, with security training after security training playing on repeat in my mind and computer screen.
“You did great for your first day”, she said walking me to the front door swinging her keys back and forth from her Dayton Pirates lanyard. Watching the letters shimmer as it swung would never give me the inclination that I would become so consumed with Dayton football. That Id get to know the parents and the kids, learn the name of the players, their numbers, their positions. I’d find myself weeks into the season shivering under the field lights screaming with the town as our notorious running back jetted across the field once again to land us another touchdown. Our Pirates took us so far, so far that we drove the hour and half drive the State Championship where we barely missed the trophy by a 40 yard field goal in the last three seconds. The town was crushed, the boys were crushed even more. For weeks after, the game would be our only conversation with everyone who walked through the doors. This bank didn’t just give me a job or a paycheck, they gave me a community, they gave me a family, they gave me a home, and my first day was simply the beginning.