Overtime worker
I still had to get a demand draft for the counseling. Shekhar and I went to the SBI located in the campus. It was about twelve thirty when we reached the bank and I took my position as the seventh man in the queue. Shekhar had already got his draft from his homeplace, a town called
The clerk processing the drafts was a middle-aged man with round glasses, who worked slower than a tortoise. He coolly lit something that seemed to be a cross breed between a cigarette and a beedi. Lunch was scheduled at two in the afternoon. This person would take out a bunch of notes from the drawer, count them, and put them back. This he did for all denominations, once every ten minutes. I was losing my temper and so were the other people in the line. The clock struck two and I was still sixth in position. The employees of the bank showed their punctuality and in a jiffy, all were in the dining room.
The clerk returned to his seat with a mere fifteen-minute delay and that dirty narcotic roll in his mouth. All faces lit up on seeing him back in his seat. But I put little trust in that guy. The bank was scheduled to close at four and no one got up till
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