Teller

“I love your ring,” says the bank teller, eyeing my right hand as she shuffles notes into a drawer.

“Oh, thanks! Yeah, a local guy made it.”

“It’s beautiful. Where’s he based?”

I write the jeweller’s name and his shop location on a scrap of paper from my purse and slide it under the bulletproof glass.  

“Thanks!” She smiles, in a less bank-tellerly, more normal-girly way. “I’ll check him out. Is he expensive?”

“Well, kind of. This cost a few hundred. But, for the work, it’s worth it. I think of it as a little piece of art on my finger.”

The bank teller hmms agreeably and a general sort of strained good feeling flutters between us.

“Yes, it’s nice to support local artists.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pleasant, thoughtful silence as she clicks her keyboard and prints off my receipt. She slips it through the slot to me and smiles.

“I get my silver rings online. It’s my little present-buying secret! I order them straight from Asia, so they cost nothing! Beautiful, handmade silver rings for two, three dollars. It’s great!”