Bank of America Meets Harry Potter

Justin and I opened a safe deposit box today.

Unfortunately, due to watching too many Bourne Identity movies, we walked in thinking we'd get a retina scan, thumbprint scan, and maybe walk through a metal detector.

Instead, we walked into Bank of America, and were told to take the elevator down a floor. Ok, elevators mean extra security, right? I mean, even though we didn't get patted down yet, SURELY that's what's coming as soon as we get off the elevator.

But we get off, walk down a hallway and it's like we were transported back to 1984. Everything is weird shades of color, the art on the walls looks faded and has captions written on a typewriter. The rug under the uncomfortable chairs padded with wool is worn under the four legs. The fake flower arrangements everywhere look like they could be dusted.

So we walk over to literally, THE ONLY PERSON down there and it's some guy named (wait for it......) Stephen Austin. As in, STONE COLD Steve Austin, the wrestler. Except this guy is about 70. And has that little pool of white spittle in the corner of his mouth.

He has 3 pens, a library book, and a giant calendar on his desk next to his PC. That's it. It's like it was staged.

Seriously, it's so quiet that after we explained what we wanted, we can hear this guy's nose whistle. As he's entering all our information, he's mumbling to himself. Every. Single. Thing. that he types.

"Address? 12 Vinton St. 1-2 V-i-n-t-o-n S-t-r-e-e-t." So painful.

Then he gets out a giant binder that must've weighed 30 pounds and slams it down on the desk. Papers flutter. He gets out a rubber date stamp and stamps like 20 pieces of paperwork (HELLO. It's 2012. HOW IS THIS STUFF NOT COMPUTERIZED?)

The entire time, Justin and I were trying to hold it together.

Then I flashed him this image and he lost it.



To which he whispered, "And does Mr. Harry Potter have his key?" To which I lost it.