Back in the 1950s, my dad was studying for his master’s degree at the University of Kansas. One day, he got a letter from his mother in New York. He didn’t think anything of it, since getting personal correspondence in the mail was commonplace back then, so he waited until evening to open it. She told him that his father was in the hospital and might not come out alive.
He was shocked by this news and decided he needed to fly to New York as soon as he could. But how was he going to buy a ticket? Like most people at the time, he didn’t have a credit card; those were really unusual. ATMs didn’t exist to withdraw cash from a bank after hours. He was afraid if he waited until the bank opened, he might not see his father ever again. So he tried something odd. He opened the phone book, looked up the bank manager’s home phone number, and called him at home and explained the situation.
The bank manager told him to meet him at the bank and he would open it up to let my father make a withdrawal after hours. My dad was very grateful, withdrew enough money to buy a plane ticket, and caught the next flight to New York. Thankfully, his father recovered and lived for years afterward.
So why did the bank manager do this? Only he knew for sure, but there are several possibilities. One is that he was just a nice guy and realized the awful situation his customer was in. Another is that the bank manager might have been looking for an excuse to leave his house – perhaps there was a family argument going on or his in-laws were visiting and telling boring stories. But I think the most likely possibility is that the manager knew that in a university town like Lawrence, Kansas, there are new people arriving every year and they’re likely to ask their colleagues about which local bank they’d recommend. That kind of customer service is likely to cause your customer to highly recommend your bank.
So why am I telling this story about 70 years after the fact? Because I’m now at the point where I’ve been able to tell this story in spoken Spanish. That’s a lot harder than writing in a second language because you don’t have time to stop and look up words. Not perfect Spanish, of course, but I’m able to speak clearly enough to tell a reasonably complex anecdote and make myself understood clearly.
My teacher told me today that I’m at an advanced intermediate level, which is pretty good for the middle of my second week of classes.