He laughed. It came out wrong. Broken.
“So I did,” he said. “I went to college. Full scholarship. I wore a suit to every job interview. I got into banking because I wanted to be on the other side of that glass. I wanted to be the one who decided. And I told myself I’d never be like that teller.”
He looked at the shoebox on the table.
“And then I came down here,” he said. “And I looked at you. In your boots. With dirt on your hands. And I saw…” He couldn’t finish.
“You saw your grandmother,” I said.
He nodded. Tears were running down his face now.
“And I did to you exactly what that teller did to her,” he whispered. “Exactly. Word for word. ‘Do you have an account with us?’ Three forms of ID. I even talked loud. Just like she did.” He put his hands over his face. “I became the thing I hated most in the world. And I didn’t even notice.”
