“Hi — I’d like to withdraw a dead dog and endless world travel, please… can you help me?”

Last week, I didn’t have any classes scheduled and was pretty much caught up on all of my projects at work, so I visited a branch downtown to work as a loan officer.

I keyed in a credit card application, opened a few new checking accounts, and answered a steady stream of questions regarding EMV cards — like how they work and why they’re safer than the old ones.

It was a pleasant and productive morning, and after returning from a late lunch, I settled back down into the office and began skimming through emails when a tiny figure poked its head into the room.


“Hi there!” I called out, smiling.


Encouraged, the 36-inches-tall character threw the rest of himself into the room. “HI! I need to make a withdrawal, please.”


“Certainly,” I replied, taking his transaction ticket and flipping it over (onto its blank side). “And how much are we withdrawing today, sir?”


He glanced up at the ceiling, his interesting straw hat throwing a shadow over his face (had he been an adult, I would have asked him to remove it). “Ummmm… two things.”


“Two things? Alrighty then.” I scribbled some numbers onto the paper and then cleared my throat.


“Please circle the two that is listed on this form, sir,” I asked, motioning for him to join me and handing him the pen. He walked around, stood alongside me (behind the desk), and saw that, on the sheet, I had written: 1 2 3. He circled the 2.


“Thank you! NOW… what two things are we withdrawing today?”


He stared at me, looking unsure as he squirmed a little. “Uh… a SPIDERMAN!”


I considered his Spiderman pajamas. “Excellent choice. Will you please draw a Spiderman for me?”


He shook his head bashfully. “No… I can’t…”


I sighed deeply. “Okay… then I’ll TRY to draw him, but I’m NOT an artist,” I stressed. I attempted a Spiderman and, realizing that his own attempt couldn’t possibly be worse than mine, the little member took the pen from my left hand and drew a much better portrayal beside the version I’d doodled.


“Wowwwww… now that’s a good Spiderman!” I praised him. Satisfied with his work, he dropped the pen onto the table.


“So… there’s your Spiderman. What’s the second thing you’d like to withdraw today?”


He looked up at me. “A… Ironman?”


I grimaced. “An Ironman? Ahhhhh… I LIKE Ironman, but I most DEFINITELY can’t draw him…” I pursed my lips. “What about Batman? Do you like him?”




And then we repeated our first activity; I drew a terrible Batman, and he followed up with a fantastic Batman.


Finished with our drawings (aka transaction), I turned to face the member and stuck my hand out. “Well sir, those are the two things you requested.  I hope you have a wonderful rest of the day.”


He shook my hand and then flew out of the room, waving his currency in the air as he rejoined his parents.




I thought about this junior member and his interesting request on and off throughout the remainder of the afternoon.

When he entered the credit union with his parents, he had obviously gathered that you come here to get the things you want, right? He understood the concept of arriving with nothing, requesting something, and then leaving with it, and by observing his parents, he must have determined that you simply withdrew whatever you really wanted that day — whatever made you happy. How simple. 

So when I asked him what HE wanted to withdraw, he wanted his favorite superheroes… or drawings of them, at least.

And then I asked myself, if I could go somewhere and magically withdraw anything I wanted — animate or inanimate, living or dead, feasible or not — what would it be?


My answer: I would withdraw my late German Shepherd, Bruce (who would then become magically immortal; healthy, happy, and unharmable — is a word!), and a lifetime of travel with him. We’d go to Ecuador, and India, and Ireland, and Scotland, and Germany (his home country!) and Australia and Israel and ohhhhhh, just EVERYWHERE! We would hike and swim and ride trains through mountains and camp out in the woods and he could finally be my very best friend forever, better than any human companion, ridiculous mansion, fancy car or famous legacy. I would just want to be with him and go places. That’s honestly it. And that’s love, isn’t it?



And now I’d like to ask (and would love to hear)… if you could withdraw two things, what would you choose? Deposit your response in the comments below.



Still here,

Aun Aqui

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Personal stories, lengthy rants, and lighthearted explosions of optimism, all neatly bundled into one blog.

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