I was in a hurry and dashed to the door of the bank. A well-dressed lady held the door open for me, and I thanked her as I swiftly walked passed her and reached the end of the queue.
I was watching as the available cashiers dealt with and despatched their customers, and watched as the queue slowly started to shrink in size, getting closer for my turn to be dealt with.
Ahead of me, up the step, I noticed a man waving.
I didn’t know him, but had the strange feeling that he thought he knew me. He was looking directly at me. Well in the strange bank light he was looking at me. That bank lighting plays tricks with one’s eyesight. My eyesight. I resisted the urge to wave back.
“Hoodi Morram!” he declared, still looking at me.
Hoodi Morram… I thought what a strange thing to say, and then it struck me that he was saying ‘howdy ma’am’ in a strange accent.
Then I thought what a strange thing to say again – did he think I was a woman?
I nonchalantly glanced around wondering if others were looking at me, also thinking I was a woman. The queue behind was now back to the door.
I noticed the woman stood behind me was smiling at the man, and nodding, and I felt relieved as I realised he was saying howdy ma’am to her and not me.
Then, I realised that he wasn’t saying it to her at all, as another bank clerk walked passed us in the queue, and said “Hello, Miss Morram” to the friend who was stood with the woman who was stood behind me in the queue.
I then realised that he had actually been saying ‘Hoodi Morram’ all along.
The friend – I noticed as I nonchalantly glanced around again – was the woman who’d held open the door for me when I dashed into the bank minutes before.
The man approached the woman, and said “Nice to see you again, Hoodi, you need to be in this queue over here!” He then walked her and her friend, the woman behind me, to a small queue by a door to an office at the far back of the bank.
I tried to see what was going on, nonchalantly once more, of course, but the next cashier became free and I was sent on my way within minutes.
It’s terrible when you only pick up part of a story.
I mean to say. Hoodi Morram!