The back of me

I was at the bank Friday morning. Try never going to a bank when it's closed the day before, which it was for the Tisha B'av fast day. The line stretched out of the bank and didn't move for at least 1/2 hour. The people in the line were getting irritated. Especially the man in back of me. I remembered his face. He flirted with me at the bus stop across the street a couple of months ago. He was from South America and then moved to an English speaking country and is divorced. He asked me if I was married and I always think that's nice of men to ask right away. Yes, yes, I'm married, I told him. He seemed funny, interesting and friendly while we were waiting at the bus stop. But at the bank he was a different person.

"I'm in back of you, ok?" he said to me in English after hearing me argue with Hubby for the 100th time that morning on my cellphone. He went somewhere inside the bank and I tried to tell him that there was a woman who had arrived before him who told me that SHE was in back of me - so he's really in back of her.

He comes back 10 minutes later and a young tall man is telling Mr. South American that HE actually was in back of me. So they're arguing. Mr. S.A. is telling me - "didn't I tell you I was in back of you?"

"Yes, but there was a woman before you who said the same thing." He looked furious and then told me in his Ricky Ricardo voice "Next tiiime, I'll tell sohmbody else I'm in back of them."

Yeah, whatever. I shrugged and turned to look in front of me.

About a half hour later I was two people away from the tellers. A little boy runs up to me:

"My mother is in back of you!"

The Spanish guy is livid. "I'M in back of you!!" he tells me.

"Don't you remember I told you there was a woman in back of me before you? Well that's her!" I pointed to the kid's mother, who was yelling at the man.

He puts his fingers in his ears, mutters curses in Spanish, English and Hebrew. It's my turn at the teller. I don't dare look back.