I've been paying rent in Provo for the last two months, even though I haven't been living there. Yes, I'm going back, Sandy is just much closer to Salt Lake than Provo and with gas prices finally going down (not!) I'm heading back to Provo. Anyways, in order to continue storing my belongings in the freezing cold basement in an awesome house with my roommates, I need to pay rent by the 3rd (or 5th at the latest) of each month. On May 4th - cutting it a little close - I headed to the bank with my rent check on the way to the gym. No phone (this part becomes important later). The account number was written on top of the check so the text I had in my phone with the account number to deposit it in wasn't really necessary.
I get to the drive-through at the bank, put the check in the tube-y thing, and sent it to the returned-missionary-looking girl behind the window, who wasn't pushing the button while speaking into the microphone and then said "oh sorry!" when she realized I was trying to read her lips. After a few minutes, ok maybe not that long, she says "This account number doesn't look long enough, are you sure this is the right account number?" I say "Ya, I've used it before, I'm pretty sure, do you have an account for someone under that name?" She tries again and says "Sorry, we don't have anyone with that name or matching account number here." I take my check back and go to the gym, thinking she is probably just not very smart and I will come back later.
After my work out I run home, grab my phone, double check the account number (which is correctly written at the top of the check - thank you very much), and go back to the bank. This time I go inside. To my chagrin, returned-missionary girl is still there. We try again. No luck. I call my trusty roommate and tell her the situation and she says "Do you have the right account number? (yes) Is his name spelled right? (yes) Are you at the right bank? (duh)" Missionary girl tries again. I take the check back trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do. I can put it in the mail and send it to Diva (the landlord - no that's not his name, just what we call him), try to deposit my check next time I plan on going to Provo, I don't know, good plans weren't really coming.
Then I get back in my car, text the roomie to apologize for the phone call and that I can't figure out how to pay my own rent and tell her about missionary girl and say she is (and I quote) "not the brightest crayon". I was so bugged. Then I realize, as I'm leaving the parking lot, the sign at the bank doesn't say "Utah Community Credit Union". Why is this a problem? Because I'm at the wrong bank. Trying to pay my rent to the kind, modestly-dressed girl behind the counter who probably realized my blonde roots run deep and still humored me by trying the wrong account number more than one too many times. Who is the dull crayon now.
Thank you for making me take piano lessons, always having a good book suggestion, expecting my best out of me, letting me "shop" in your pantry, staying up late and chatting, staying on the stairs for an hour, showing me how to live the gospel, and loving everyone around you. Love you!
