The Hippest Bank on the Planet

Yesterday, our main task was to get a bank account.  I finally got a tax identification number on Wednesday (I started to head out again on Monday and realized I didn’t have my passport), and as far as I knew we were all set.  So, after waking up to our first Slovenian snowfall, we headed over to the bank on the corner.

The bank on the corner is like no bank you’ve seen.  It’s chic.  Smooth.  Swish.  Fly.  Chill.  In fact, for the first week we lived here I thought it was a spa, and I might still if Dad hadn’t said that he was cashing traveler’s checks there.

It’s filled with lights that change from red to blue to green to orange.  It has art deco furniture, with round plush chairs that hang from the ceiling.  It has LCD televisions and a slick coffee machine that brews up twelve flavors of espresso on demand.  And it doesn’t have any tellers behind a counter, just young, hip (really hip) guys and gals that hang out in the lobby waiting for customers.

Before we went to the bank, I figured there was any number of reasons that we might be declined for an account:  lack of address documentation, foreign status, language barriers, or something else related.  But when we walked in the door with the three munchkins in tow, me dressed in boots, jeans, and a beat-up Wisconsin T, I forgot about all of that.  I now assumed we would get turned down simply because we’re not cool enough to bank there.  And I would have understood.

But, either our uncool was cool or they took pity on us and forgave our intrusion.  Either way, they put a lot of effort into figuring out how to open an account for us and were very cordial about it.  One of them even remembered Mom and Dad… “I recognize you…were your parents here?  They were very nice!”  And they brought Chantelle coffee and the munchkins hot chocolate while they waited.

So, now we’re members of the hippest bank on the planet.  We’re very excited.