SURVIVING... Same ole, same ole (Part 129i)

SURVIVING... Same ole, same ole (Part 129i)

Just as I was about to leave, Ward, the owner of the company that cleaned the bank each night, walked in. He’d stop by at least once a week to check up on just how well his employees were doing but it was usually after I’d gone. He wanted to know why I was still there. After I explained about the missing keys he asked if I’d checked behind the metal cabinets that held the drawers. I’d never given that a thought so he went to Cara’s knee hole space, got on his hands and knees and with his hand reached in behind the cabinet and the fascia that was the front (lobby side) of the counter. He pulled out some scraps of paper, a few paper clips and a few coins. It was certainly a surprise to me. Ward offered to check behind all the cabinets but I said I’d help. While I was on the floor I pulled open the bottom drawers at each station to check one last time. We’d worked our way down to Jerene’s knee hole space and while Ward was checking behind the cabinet I tried to pull her bottom drawer open... and it didn’t come out. Tired, hungry and wanting to go home, that upset me. It was a rule that all drawers were to be left unlocked at night. Ward noticed my frustration and offered to open it. I remember looking at him and asking how. He laughed and proceeded to tell me that, among other things, he was a licensed locksmith. He went out to his truck and came right back with a small wooden case. In seconds he’d opened the drawer.

I looked down and saw it was filled to the top with what appeared to be clothes. I pulled the top item out and found it was a cotton skirt. I remember Ward standing there looking at me holding it up in front of myself and making a joking comment about how it didn’t look good on me. I put it on the counter and pulled the next item out... a kind of mustard/gold color skirt. I was now puzzled. As I pulled on the next item I thought I heard a metallic sound and before I got it all the way out Ward was reaching into the drawer. I watched him root around a bit and then pull out the key ring with the missing keys. We briefly talked about how they possibly had ended up there but he was now running late for his next stop. I thanked him for his efforts and I remember him shrugging his shoulders and saying it was all part of his job.

I was holding the keys in my hand and looking down into the drawer and wondering about why there had been three skirts stuffed into it. As I pondered the possibilities I saw something more than vaguely familiar... the always recognizable elastic waistband of a pair of Carter’s Spanky pants panties. They were mixed in with what appeared to be a scarf, gloves, sweater as well as a small pile of sanitary napkins and a sanitary panty with the plastic crotch. Seeing the Carter’s panties brought back the memory of my dealings with Jerene shortly after her hire. I’d seen a DP (downpants) on her and had recognized the elastic and label. I managed to get into a dialog with her about them. (See part 115h, i, j from Sept 2013) Because she was no naive I’d managed to get her into a conversation about them and to even try nylon panties. However, after the fact, because of that naivety and cluelessness I was worried that she’d mention something about it to other employees. So, in a stern conversation I’d made it clear to her that it was between just the two of us and that her failure in this regard could end up badly... for both of us. It had been over a year and, fortunately, it was like it had never happened. I’d made it a point not to get into casual conversations with her and kept any dealings with her on a professional level. But I knew I was going to have to talk with her about both the locked drawer and the misplaced keys. I also knew that once the conversation started she’d know I’d seen the contents of her drawer. I stood there wondering what her reaction would be knowing that I’d seen the panties. I stuffed the skirts back into the drawer, got my coat and headed home. There were a couple of reasons why I wasn’t looking forward to the next morning.

At home, I went into so much detail about what had happened that I was sure that Elle knew I couldn’t make that sort of thing up. One thing I remember about that conversation was that Elle expressed concern over what might happen to Jerene. I was too. The bank customers liked her but other than being friendly with Laura and, recently, with Gina, most of her co-workers were a bit put off by her. Bret and I’d long ago pegged her as an opportunist, trying to curry favor with any of the bank officers and primarily with Hobie. On the rare occasion that Bert, the president, came to her window she would fawn all over him and he seemed to eat it up. Her “offenses” were more annoying than anything. By the time I went to bed I figured I’d let what Jerene had to say dictate the results.

I was at the bank at 8am because the company that serviced the safe deposit boxes had indicated that they would be there between 8 and 9am. At about ten to nine Hank let the service man in. When told he didn’t have to drill out the locks he just smiled and promptly handed me an invoice for $120 dollars... the minimum fee (even back then) for a service call from the city to our area. As I looked at it I got the idea to show it to Jerene if for no other reason than to give her a scare. Jerene arrived as the service person was going out the door. I’d told Hank to tell her to come right to my desk and as she approached I could see that her ever present half smile was missing. I actually thought she looked a bit contrite. I had her sit down by my desk and then went and told Bret to be ready to escort our noisy “friend” (NOT) to his safe deposit box when he arrived.

In writing about this now, some 47 years after the fact, I’ll admit that I really thought I'd made it hard on Jerene. I had her sit there, on the edge of the chair, for about 10 minutes while I busied myself getting things from my desk and perusing them, never looking at her once. Finally, I held up the keys and dangled them in front of her. Her eyes followed the keys, swinging back and forth, for probably a minute. Then in about as meek a voice that I’d ever heard from her, asked where they were found. I sat there, unspeaking, for at least a minute before telling her that they were in her personal drawer. I drew it out as slowly as I could. And then, very harshly, demanded to know why it had been locked. She looked down and I think she said “I’m sorry”. She was speaking into her lap so it was hard to hear her. I only said one word... “Explain!”

To be continued...