More than two decades ago, I was a teen working to save up money for college. I’d made a deal with my father where I would loan him any excess money I had after depositing my paycheck, which he used to pay down his margin account. He paid me interest on this loan that was less than what his margin account charged him, but better than I could get anywhere else, which was a win-win for the two of us.
This was before banks were all online, when you had to deal with checks and physical banks. I was at my local bank cashing my latest paycheck and had filled out the deposit slips, but left one without an account number.
Me: “I want to deposit this check. I want [amount] put into my account here, and the rest put in my father’s account. I don’t know his account number so I couldn’t put it on the slip, but you can look it up by his name.”
Teller: “We can’t give you another customer’s account number.”
Me: “I know, I’m not asking for it. Just deposit the rest in his account without giving me the number, please. I’ll let him know about it when I get home.”
Teller: “If you don’t know his account number, we can’t give it to you.”
Me: “I’m not asking for it. I want you to put the money in his account without giving me any of his account details.”
Teller: “We can’t do that, it could be fraudulent.”
Me: “I’ve done this here a dozen times before without problem. I’m trying to give my money to someone else; how can I profit from that?”
Teller: “I told you I can’t do that.”
Me: “Fine, whatever. Just give me everything not going to my account in cash, then.”
Teller: “Why do you want cash?”
Me: “So I can give it to my dad that way since you won’t let me give it to him the easy way. He’ll have to waste his time coming to deposit it now.”
Teller: “I can’t… hold on, wait here.”
The teller disappears for an eternity while everyone in line waits. Eventually, a woman dressed quite professionally, who I assume was in charge, came back.
Manager: “Hello, Mr [name], you wanted to deposit money in your father’s account, correct?”
Me: “Ideally, yes, please.”
Manager: “You’re aware we can’t give you his account number.”
Me: “I know, I don’t need it, I just want the money in his account.”
After that, the transaction went as it normally did without any issues, but I saw the teller I’d originally been speaking to glaring at me as I exited the bank.
I never saw that particular teller again, but after that, whenever I tried to deposit my check, the tellers would always say something along the lines of “Oh, you’re the one who puts money in his dad’s account?” No one used to recognize me before this day, and now every teller knows exactly who I am. I’ve always wondered what kind of drama went on behind the scenes after I left that I’d accidentally become so memorable.
