JUST ANOTHER DAY IN MY ADVENTURE-PACKED LIFE

So I go into the bank yesterday, to open up a new account. That's the best way, I've found, to balance my checkbook...just to open a new account every few months.

Anyway, I go into the bank and, you might say, I'm loaded for bear. I know how difficult these banking people can be and I'm ready for them. I've even written down some pretty snappy replies to hurl back at them when they start making trouble for me.

I'm sitting there, looking pretty stupid, if I say so myself. That's the best way to catch them offguard, just look stupid until you open your mouth and start spewing brilliance. And the young lady looks me right in the eye and says, "May I see some identification?"

"I knew it!" I exclaim.

"Excuse me," she says, acting like if she's all innocent and stuff, and pretending she has no idea what I'm talking about.

I'm ready for that. I pull out my notes and after a few seconds of searching for the right place, I retort back to her, "Where do you think we are, Arizona?" I came up with that one myself.

"I'm sorry sir, but I do need to see your I.D." She's good, I'm thinking. A little too good, if you ask me. To my disbelief, I wasn't able to shake her off her game. But, there's more in my mental arsenal. So, I look down at the paper again and find the exact right thing to say.

"That's racial profiling," I exclaim indignantly.

"But sir," she says, "I'm also white."

I admit I hadn't written down anything for that, but I'm quick, mind you, so I think for a minute or two (during which time the two of us are just kinda staring at one another) and then I say, "Yeah, sure, but you're not as white as I am."

"Very few are," she replies.

"Okay, I give up," I say. I admit it, this girl is good. I go ahead and hand her my drivers license.

Anyway, she starts punching in some numbers on the computer. I notice she's deceptively kept the screen turned so I can't see it, but I'm pretty sure she's pulled up some dossier that the bank and the government have put together on me. You do realize that all the banks in this country are controlled by the Obamas, don't you? I forget where I read that, but it was on the Internet, so it's pretty right on.

Since I believe that the best defense is a good offense, I speak up as she's pretending to enter some information on the screen. "I can explain that unpaid doctor's bill," I say.

She just looks at me as if I'm the crazy one. "Ha," I think. Actually, it may have been, "Ha, ha." She knows good and well what I'm talking about and I'm realizing that if I'm going to get the bank to let me give them my money I better do some talking and pronto.

"The doctor didn't do a very good job," I explain. You'd think that would settle it, but this girl is a tough cookie.

"I'm not sure I understand," she says, her eyes burning holes into my face. I'm starting to sweat profusely, and I don't mind admitting it.

"It was the doctor," I continue. "I always pay my doctor's bills," I explain. "But that doctor, no way. I think he took advantage of me while I was sedated."

Now that's not exactly true. Because actually, I was never sedated. But it's the in vogue thing to claim when you want to get out of a bill. I got the cable TV people to give me a $25.00 gift certificate by using that very same line. So, I'm feeling pretty good at this point. Although, the woman at the cable place wasn't nearly as good as this girl.

"Well, let's save that discussion for another day," she says.

I'm thinking that maybe she's hitting on me, so I wink at her.

She gives me this puzzled look, probably playing coy, so I give her another wink, then another with the other eye.

"Can I get you a tissue?" she asks.

"No, just my toaster oven," I reply.

"I'm not following you, sir," she says.

Admittedly, that line hasn't worked since the early sixties. Why dont' banks give away toaster ovens anymore?

"Nevermind, " I say.

"Okay," she smiles at me. "All you need to do is just sign here and we'll be done."

"Is signing this going to obligate me to pay that doctor's bill?" I ask. "Because, I won't do that. He took advantage of me." A good liar never forgets his lies. I stay on point and even if it's not working on her, I'm feeling pretty good. I heard an actress on TV this morning say something about feeling good in her skin. I think that's me.

Anyway, I digress. This banker lady pretends she doesn't even understand. "No sir," she says. "It's just your signature to protect you."

I start to point out that there's no way signing my name is going to protect me, but over the course of the past fifteen minutes, this well-trained agent for the bank/U.S. Government has worn me down. I sign my name. Count out my initial deposit of three dollars and 37 cents and head on out. It's a small victory, I'm thinking, but, nonetheless, it is a victory for the little guy.