Banking with a purpose...literally

Last nite I had a plethora of errands to run after work with the urgency of getting home to go for a run.  My first stop was to get my car smog checked.  I'm not really sure why, as it is only a 2002 - apparently I am at risk?  I guess Mercedes didn't have their act together that year.  Anyway, I passed (phew!) with flying colors of course and fifty some dollars later.  Next, off to the bank for my rent check.  My property management company only accepts cashier's checks or direct withdrawal from your account (big no no in my book).  I don't live in section 8 housing, as far as I know, but somebody does and I have to be inconvenienced by it.  Regardless, I am at the bank waiting in line hoping not to get the teller that always talks my ear off (I think he thinks it's flirting), but sure enough I get him.  I give him my account number and tell him what I need.  We go through the normal banking banter, he asks if there's anything else I need.  I say no and anticipate him leaving to print out the cashier's check.  Not so lucky.  He asks me if I went to a wedding recently...um, excuse me?  I respond No, should I have?  (I'm a little sassy).  My face begins to blush and get hot and that's not from embarrassment from him being able to see into my bank account.  He points to the henna on my hand that I had done over the weekend.  I explained that I got it done at my eyebrow place, which is Indian; but that I am familiar with the traditional custom of Indian brides getting henna done.  He ends up half arguing with me about the traditional practice and that it is not just brides, but usually there is someone at the reception doing it for guests.  I guess he's been to plenty of Indian weddings - he's got at least one up on my zero so I agree and  hope to get things moving along.  He then asks if the place I get my eyebrows done is Ziba's - why yes, it is...is this important in my banking transaction?  I felt like we were playing 20 questions and I would only get my coveted cashier's check if I answered all of them correctly.  He asks again if there is anything else he can do for me...um, nope, still good, just waiting for that check.  Finally, he says the magic words - Let me go get that check for you.  Thanks!  While I stood there waiting I realized the teller next to me had helped at least two other people in the time I had spent with my teller.  Oh, wait, here comes the check...yippee, I am out of here.  He comes back and tries logging into his computer, typing a series of letters and numbers about 4 times before telling me he can't remember his password.  He told me he likes to play around with it and change it a lot - apparently so much that he can't remember which one is the one of the day.  I try to politely smile and take some pressure off him.  He was getting nervous and fidgety and making too many excuses.  I know I am a cute girl, but come on man, get yourself together - I'm not THAT cute.  He grabs a slip of paper from his receipt machine and a pen and tells me he will be back.  He proceeds to one of the desks towards the back and gets on the phone.  Eventually he comes back, types in what must be the cryptic password and runs back to the phone to let them know he's made it in.  At last, I get my check; but not without another inquisition to whether I need anything else (I think we are on number 5 at this point).  He thanks me for my patience, which I respond with a smile and "It happens" and am on my way.  Next month I think I'll wear a disguise with absolutely no sign of any type of flair and if he tries talking to me, I'm going to write on a piece of paper that I have laryngitis.  This is exactly why I bank online.