Coming out of the cafeteria after lunch, my coworker and I got into an elevator to go down to the basement level where the Citibank ATM is located so that I could make a withdrawal. A woman asked to hold the door while the doors almost closed and we managed to open them in time. Without a word, she got in, and walked out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened and walked straight to the ATM ahead of us. I was a little annoyed at the way she did that for some reason.

I stood about 10ft away from ATM holding my card in my hand, and she didn’t have the bank card ready. She stood aside to put her purse on something to look for her card and I fully expected her to say, “Oh please, go ahead.” Instead, she said, “Oh, do you have to use it, too? I’m sorry, I have to use it, too.” And the bitch kept searching for her card!

Ten to fifteen seconds later, she finally acknowledged, with every bit of reluctance, my intense stare and my right arm impatiently bent at 90 degree angle, at the end of which the hand proudly held the unmistakable bank card. And my stance, of course, was that of a runner at the starting line ready to bolt, clutching a baton resembling a bank card. “Oh, you can go ahead if you want,” she said grudgingly. Without a word, I walked up to the ATM and proceeded to take the necessary steps.

While waiting for the ATM which was making the required noise of apparent thinking process to spit out the bills which rightfully belong to me, I heard her ask my coworker, “Excuse me, do you have to use it, too?” I turned my head around to see her STILL looking for her card now in a desperately frantic mode when my coworker answered, “No, I’m just waiting for her.” And as soon as he said that or as if she couldn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, she abandoned her search for her bank card, walked across the hall into an area where massive color printers are located, and started asking this guy working there, “Oh, what IS this place? What are all these?” etc, etc.

Now bear in mind, we were not some random strangers. We were strangers but coworkers working at the same company, in a building where you have to use your ID badge to open the bullet-proof glass doors, inside of which security guards sitting at a big ass security desk monitors everybody’s comings and goings. She wasn’t some floozy who wandered off the street we happened to bump into.

I walked back to where my coworker was waiting, who was watching this woman with an incredulous look on his face. We looked at each other and blurted out at the same time, “What the fuck was THAT?”