She turned and walked along behind the counter until she was close to a small office cubicle with another woman inside. Well-dressed, middle-aged, overweight. Most women who work in banks tend to be all three, but not as heavy as the women who work in doctor’s offices and medical facilities. She was polite and waved me in. She took out her stamp and asked for ID. I gave it to her and asked for a pen and paper. She supplied them. I put the date on top, then wrote down that I had appeared at the bank with cash to pay my arrears but the teller had refused to take it without explanation.

She looked at it. Read it. Then said, “Oh, I can’t notarize this.”

Phone. I took mine out. I took a picture of the paper, then tapped the photo app to switch to video recording. I then verbally repeated the sequence of events, repeated the request, and moved the lens to go with the dialogue, “I just want a formal record, could you please notarize this.”

She said she couldn’t. I asked why not. She said it was past closing time and I would have to leave and I would have to delete the recording, which was still going.

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

“I’ll call security,” she said, but she’d already buzzed for assistance. A fellow in a uniform appeared behind me. The woman said, “He has to leave. But first he has to delete that recording or give us his phone.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” the security guard said, holding out his hand as if he expected obedience. “You don’t want me to call the police.”

“Actually, I have a better idea, I’ll call them.”

He started moving toward me. I was going to tap 911, but then decided to call the sheriff’s department and while I did, I told the guard, “Back off, you don’t want to do this. I’m the one calling the cops. If there’s an altercation, you will look like the person committing”—the sheriff’s department answered, I covered the little microphone hole to finish—“the assault.” I took my thumb away, said “Hello,” gave my name, and asked if Rollie Robidoux was still on duty. The dispatcher said he was. I said, “Look, I’m at BoA, corner of Shwenk Drive and Washington Avenue. We have a conflict here and I feel a law enforcement officer would help straighten things out…No, no, no. Not a bank robbery. Nothing that serious. There’s a bank officer attempting to take a customer’s property…No, it’s not a joke. Of course, I know that’s what banks do…. OK…thank you.”