His Wife Will Have Hell Toupee

(I work in the vault room, handling the deposits that local businesses put in the dropbox throughout the night. One morning, before I even have a chance to open the night drop, my phone rings. It is an internal number that only bank employees can dial. I answer, and on the other end is one of the operators from the 24-hour call center.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Bank]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Operator: “Yes, this is [Operator] in the call center. I have a customer on the line that insisted I transfer him to you immediately. I tried to explain that your branch doesn’t open for another hour, but he insisted it was an emergency. Do you want to take the call, or should I have him call back?”

Me: “No, don’t have him call back. I’m here, so I’ll take it.”

Operator: “Thank you. I’ll put him through.”

(After I hear the tell-tale “click” of the operator putting the customer on the line, I continue.)

Me: “Sir, thank you for calling. This is [My Name]. The call center operator said you had an emergency. How can I help you this morning?”

Caller: “I need my hair back!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Caller: “Oh, for crying out loud! Fine. I need my hair back, please!”

Me: “No, sir, I wasn’t asking you to say please. I was making sure I heard you correctly. Did you say you need your hair back?”

Caller: “Yes, I did! I need my hair back, and I know you have it!”

Me: “Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Caller: “My hair! Give me my hair back!”

Me: “Please, calm down. Can you explain to me what you mean?”

Caller: “My d*** wife. She ripped my hair off and now you have it. I want it back, and I want it back now! I’m right outside your bank, and I need my hair back!”

(I look at my monitor, which displays a cycling image of all of the security cameras since the vault room has no windows. Sure enough, I see a man in our parking lot pacing back and forth in front of our door with a baseball cap on. I glance at my watch. It is only seven am, and there are only two employees here. The rest of the employees won’t be in for half an hour and the lobby will not open until eight am.)

Me: “Okay, sir. I see you outside, but I am afraid that we do not open for another hour. On top of that, I still don’t know what you are talking about.”

Caller: “For crying out loud! Are you stupid?! That b**** took my hair and I want it back!”

Me: “Sir, please do not insult me or use that kind of language. I’d be happy to help you if you could just calm down and explain yourself.”

Caller: *takes a deep breath and answers more calmly* “Okay. Last night, my wife and I were dropping off the deposit for my business. She was screaming at me in the car, accusing me of cheating on her, all because I hired a teenage girl to work at the front counter of our store. She was mad and screaming at me the whole time. My wife dropped the deposit in the box. Then she yelled, ‘Let’s see if your new girlfriend likes you bald!’, ripped my toupee off my head, and put it in your dropbox. I am leaving her today, but I need my hair back. Please, can I have my hair back?”

Me: *feeling sorry for the guy* “Okay, sir, I understand. I haven’t opened the night drop yet, and I can’t until another employee gets here in about half an hour. When she does, I will open the night drop and look for your hair. There is a [Donut Shop] across the street. Maybe you could go get some coffee, maybe some breakfast, and I could call you back when I get the night drop open?”

Caller: *noticeably calmer* “That would be fine. Thank you! I really need my hair! I’ve had it with that shrew. Every time she sees me even say hello to a younger woman she screams that I must be cheating on her and she does something to my toupee. This is the fourth one she’s tried to destroy or get rid of!”

Me: “I understand, sir. I will call you back as soon as I can.”

(The caller gives me his cell phone number, and I watch on the security monitor as he gets in his car and drives off. Half an hour later, my coworker arrives and I relate the entire story to her as we open the night drop, which requires two people to do. As I expected, on top of the other deposit bags is a toupee, adhesive still attached to the underside of it. I call the customer back, tell him I have his hair, and tell him that if he comes to the front door I will give it back to him. When he gets back to the bank, he is carrying three large boxes of donuts.)

Caller: “Here, these donuts are for you. You have been so nice to me, even after I yelled at you. I am sorry for that. I was taking out the anger I have toward my vicious harpy of a wife on you, and that was wrong. Please, share these with your coworkers.”

Me: “Oh! Well, thank you, sir!”

(We exchanged packages. I took the donuts, he took his hair, and we parted ways. Less than a week later, I did discover that he had closed his joint accounts and opened up sole accounts in just his name, and that his address was now different than his wife’s. Guess you shouldn’t mess with a man’s toupee!)

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