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58 Sticking It to the Man Lateeka’s working, my favorite teller— she’s got wild nail art & fire red/ feather extensions. In line: young guy in hi-tops w/ipod, black blazer girl on her lunch hour. Lateeka & I always talk hair & makeup, she’s in school for accounting. A guy with 20-inch arms in a Hines Ward jersey/ cut off at the sleeves, a white-haired woman with a cane & her daughter —no suits. Restaurant guy walks up to the window with a bagful of receipts— the blonde teller working the line leaves her post & exits side-door, so it’s Lateeka & people roll their eyes & grumble: Oh great, now there’s only one teller up there. Steeler guy shakes his head: Jesus Christ, do you believe this? Daughter to mother: Why don’t you sit down? Blazer girl turns: I’m late for an appointment. Steeler guy waves his massive arms wide like he’s going out for a pass: Hey, I got an idea— why don’t we shut this shit down & open up a bank? We turn to see his arms jabbing the air like he’s trying to grab it down — his neck red with rage. He barrels out the door & we bust into laughing, the air full with mutiny: 1 new spot open, we inch forward like fat cattle, clutching our checks a little less tightly. We have won for the day, we are sticking it to the man. ...

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