Back in the olden days of the eighties, before banks got so high and mighty that they could afford to be rude to customers, there used to be something called a Merchant Window. If you had a business account and wanted to make a deposit, the line at the MW was usually shorter and moved faster.

I never used the MW, back in the day. I didn’t think it was fair to take advantage just because I was a depositor representing an entity and not a person. Actually, the real reason was that I didn’t want the real people snaking around between the velvet ropes to be scowling at me in the short line with evil on their faces and in their hearts (the way I would have been staring at them if positions were reversed).

Today, though, I was standing in the bank line so long that I longed for the good old days of the eighties. (Not that I don’t long for the eighties on a regular basis, bank line or no bank line. I’m just saying. Twenty years younger and surrounded by friends? I’m not scowling now. Well, I am because it’s not the eighties any more. But now I’m not.)

This line today was moving glacially and the little kid in his mother’s arms behind me was kicking me in the back and there were only two teller windows open and one of them had the same customer the whole time I was there and for who knows how long afterward. And I wanted to give them money. I wanted to put over a hundred thousand dollars into their bank. Where oh where was the Merchant Window now, eh?

But you know what? I still wouldn’t have got in line at the MW. I would rather stand in the same line as all the other disgruntled clients and mumble and moan along with them than use a shortcut that strikes me as unfair and elitist. Being an anti-establishment liberal I’m all about equality, even if it has to be enforced. I’m the exact opposite of the kind of person who demands special rights for reasons that have something to do with money. Like, you know, our president and his friends.

So I waited, but not exactly patiently. I did, however, turn and smile at the kid who was kicking me. His mother held him a little closer, which wasn’t the reason I did it but was fine with me anyway.

When I got to the teller window and handed over my deposits, I was fine. I didn’t say what I’d been thinking in line, that this was a little too much like going to the doctor’s office, except that at the doctor’s office you get to sit down. Instead, I smiled and made the usual small talk, just as if I’d been waiting two minutes at the Merchant Window instead of half an hour with the masses.