The speaker at my bank’s drive-through window had been broken for weeks, and we tellers had to resort to miming or writing notes to communicate with our frustrated customers. One day a sweet elderly lady whom I would see every week pulled up to the window, leaned out of her car and smacked the glass in front of my face.
“Hope this is bulletproof,” she yelled.
There had just been a robbery at another bank nearby, so I was touched by her concern. “It is,” I yelled back.
“Good,” she continued, “because someone is going to shoot you if you don’t get that speaker fixed.”