Was it the drop dead gorgeous guys banks employ, the perfectly fitted suits or the fake American accents most of them speaks ni? I don’t even know which one to blame for my ordeal. Chai! Bankers una don suffer mi o.

I could recall vividly those days when the mention of a banker sparks thought like “his monthly salary shouldn’t be anything less than 150k, he should be driving an expensive car, lives in a good house” coupled with other thoughts that comes to the likes of me. But, that was then sha, because one resolution I made sure I stuck with was to stop tripping for bankers.

Now, this was what happened, which also happens to be the most embarrassing moment of my life.

As a teenager, I started dating early, those days of secondary school love, plastic rose flower as Val gift with a bar of chocolate, sneaking into the toilet to receive a boy’s call from my mum broken Nokia 3310 and the N200 sim card I saved from my lunch money to buy. Those days when mills&boons was the only novel I could afford and our dear NTA had nothing else to show apart from maria de losangelis, the rich also cry and consistence repetition of titanic. I had to mention those things responsible for my heavy heart full with so much love. Those days came and gone with passing out from secondary school and as per I don graduate, person fit step up na, or wetin you think?

The boredom of finishing school and having nothing to do after jamb don jam me, I decided to open an account even though I didn’t need one then. I just wanted to have an excuse to go out and showcase one of my ‘sister dash me’ collection of cloths.

After many thoughts and changing into all the cloths in my wardrobe, I decided to settle for a brown short top with a blue jean and a brown heel I couldn’t carry. Those pako (wooden) heels that was common then. Only God knows what happened to the manufacturers of those shoes, I almost wrote a petition against them coz they sort of contributed to my ordeal.

I must admit, ASD (attention seeking disorder) was disturbing me then, I just love it and I truly needed it, my secondary school boyfriend was the last I had. After two years of graduating, I wanted to know if I still dey town. Not only did I know it will soon become an attention I’ll regret.

I walked into the banking hall with my heel that kept shifting me towards the wrong direction even though I was walking towards the right way. I finally composed myself when I saw a guy sitting not too far from the door looking like the customer care representative. OMG!! I almost screamed out, omo! See how person make sense. The guy fit smile abeg, with his white teeth sparkling like a diamond. Not mentioning the bank name, but dem try for that bank, ahah!!See handsome bobos everywhere looking dapper in suits. I quickly move towards him when his front seat was empty. Pushing myself forward, trying not to miss the way with my heel. I was already getting the attention I needed only that it was more than I bargained for, the pako heels kept making some sounds I couldn’t understand, the more steps I took, the more the sound was turning into a ringing tone, more like a china phone ringing tone in fact I could sense the vibration whenever it landed before it brings out the tone. I almost ran to the sit to save myself the embarrassment as all eyes were on me now, but had to caution myself. Running on slippery tiles with this my heel doesn’t sound like a good idea. I managed to get to the sit with a wide smile to divert Mr handsome customer care attention from the noisy heels to my face.


Welcome to DD bank how may I help you? His voice was so soothing; I decided to take up the challenge. In my mind I was like ‘oh boy, no be only you sabi blow fake American accent o”. mawning (morning), hmm, am hoping I could open an account with your bank. That’s a good idea. Savings? Yeah. How old are you ma? Eheh! Mo ku! How I wan tell him my age, open all the forming or he don see me as smallie, na em make him ask for my age ni? 18, I replied with a smile. Alright, here’s a form and you’ll need four passport photograph, any means of identification? ID, driver license, international passport, voter’s card?

Ah! Another blow, ID ke? The only ID I get na my WAEC ID for my sec. school. If I know say na this kin things dem go ask me for bank ni I for don sit down for house o. how I wan show my ID to this guy now, the passport there wasn’t encouraging at all, it will drastically reduce my chances with him by 60%.

I lost my ID and I don’t have any other means of identification, I lied. You don’t drive? You are a big girl now, he joking said. I smiled shyly. You can just get me a NEPA bill from your residential house that should do it. Take the form with you, fill it and whenever you are bringing it back, bring the bill along preferably the latest and the passports. Alrighty (my way of saying alright whenever am forming. hehehe). He asked me some personal questions that made me feel we are having a spark already, as in I could see formula everywhere, showing how strong the chemical reactions in our chemistry dey like or so I thought. For a moment I thought he was flirting with me coz of the questions he was asking followed with the broad smile he puts on whenever I replied him. I had two different ways of answering him, one that I spoke out and the other one that was being said to myself in my mind. Like when he asked me where I live, for my mind I was like ok, you wanna come visit right? Probably after work I guess? And I could swear I was already designing a wedding IV with my brain when he asked for the meaning of my name coz he’s Igbo and he only understood a little bit of Yoruba. A blind man could see me blushing as I gave my answers in my Americana accent.

The seat behind me was getting fill up with people awaiting my ass to be taken off the seat and I could see him looking behind meaning my time with him will soon be up. He further explained how I was going to fill the form until my forming as usual landed me in trouble. While showing me what to do, he asked if I have an account with another bank already, not to sound like a novice I lied again, telling him I have an account with a certain bank which I opened some months back but because I wasn’t satisfied with their service I decided to make a switch and a while ago I lost my ID.

This should be easy then, he said. Of course! I said with my accent shifting from a fake American to a more fake British accent. As I stood up to leave, a woman descending from the staircase came towards me and said; omo mi, jor, ibo ni account number mi wa ninu gbogbo e? (My child, please where is my account number written in all of these) she was holding an ATM card, a withdrawal booklet that looks like a cheque book and some papers. Eje kin bayin wo ma (let me help you check it ma) I said. Apart from the fact that my Yoruba sounded so local, na so I collected the ATM card from the woman, dey read out the sixteen figures wey dey on top. I almost finish reading it when Mr handsome stood up and said that’s not an account number, he leaned forward towards us, collected the withdrawal booklet from her and showed the woman the account number at the bottom left of the first slip he opened. My head don DRY!!! You know that awkward moment you’ll do anything to disappear on the spot just like the way nollywood ghost they disappear after dealing with its killer. I quickly carried my bag and pushed myself out of the bank hall as fast as possible, this time, not minding the sound of my heels, even if na afro beat the heels were sounding like, I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to save what’s left of my dignity. As I proceed with my walk of shame out of the bank, I looked back to see my Mr handsome customer care if he didn’t read meaning to what just happened. The look on his face said it all, I saw him staring at me with eyes that say “so much for an account owner”. He shook his head, put on a silly grin and sat down, concentrating back to his work.

I almost slapped the mallam wey wan sell rubber slippers for me for N300. As I changed into my N150 slippers outside the bank, I saw my supposed to be boyfriend coming out of the bank, omo! usain bolt no fit compete with the kin race I picked towards the other side of the road, wove down a taxi and headed home.

So, here I am, years later, sorting out the pile of papers in my dusty bedroom shelf, when I saw the bank form. I smiled at my silliness and was motivated to pen down my most “self-caused” embarrassing moment. Hmmmm, I never had the guts to go back to the bank o.

Closetoheart:
It would have been better if you could quote www.Naijasinglegirl.com as the source of this story.

Krasid:
One lie will always lead to another lie and at the end of the day the truth will come out.Nice story.

mutazeez:
Used to think only guys would go that far to impress babes. Thanks for opening my eyes Op