shittu should have known better than bring himself here with this sick lie. I cannot say I warned him, but I can say I told him “bros it’s not true”.
I still remember how it happened earlier on Tuesday. Work has been shady of late so I took my stand right in front of customer service, not sure who I was waiting for, just hoping business will stroll in. it’s the second day of the week and been the major bank in town, we had a long queue outside. From my position I could see clearly any customer coming in and could start up a conversation.
“Gordon good morning” an elderly customer who I couldn’t place his face said as he offered me a handshake.
“Good morning sir” I replied, took his hand and tried to REAL my smile, but he caught me.
“After persuading me to collect YOUR credit card, now you don’t remember me abi? Even after following me to my house at wamba?” he sarcastically added with a big smile.
“Mr. kunda, you are welcome. Ah, I have not forgotten you sir” I said as we laughed since we both knew I was just been smart.
“Gordon, I want my account statement, where do I apply for it?”
With smiles on my face I led him to customer service, got him the statement request form and filled it for him. We chatted while he waited for his statement to be processed.
“Since you people have refused to bring a branch to wamba, we will continue coming here.” He said with a smile.
I just smiled. We had discussed this issue earlier.
“And you have refused to come and marry our wamba daughters, Gordon.”
I couldn’t help but look at his face as we both laughed.
“Sir the issue is that wamba daughters have refused me, they consider me too black” I joked along.
“No oh, I will give you good one from my village.”
Again we laughed.
Just then he was called by customer service. i got him the statement. He observed it page by page then demanded for envelope. Though it’s not his right, I got it for him anyway. As he headed out, he tipped me 5 dollars (naira equivalent). We just smiled and I watch him leave.
Just then I noticed shittu in the man-trap door. He looked impatient and obviously was more incited to anger by the welcome note the man-trapdoor was reciting. He just wanted to come inside the bank and resolve his complain I concluded.
“Guy, take me to your manager” he almost ordered as he approached me.
Noticing he wasn’t in for pleasantries and feeling insulted by his approach, I just pointed the direction to him.
As he walked from me, I looked at him fully. He was unusually dressed in native and he wore a cap. Today is not Friday I said to myself. He looked bright. I dint bug myself what the issue was, manager was not on sit, so I expect he would return to me. Which he did.
“Guy me I get complain o” he said to me with an arrogant posture. “And una must treat this issue now fa” he added.
I just watched him. I knew shittu way back high school, so his approach was very familiar. I wondered why I got upset sef.
“Guy wetin happen”
“broda, see atm pay me fake two thousand.” He loudly said it, that he attracted over six faces to the two one thousand naira notes he was showing me.
I starred at the money. I collected them, to feel them.
“Sneeze, na my sweat be that una wan joke with, and me I no go gree” he lashed out.
Handing him the confirmed papers I said “bros it’s not true”
He walked out on me without further words and headed straight for the bulk room. I watched him again as he walked with strength and vigor like someone heading for battle and is sure of victory. He entered the bulk room.
‘Fake notes in an ATM machine?’ I asked myself.
I knew where he would be directed to, from the bulk room, so I got there before him.
My CSM’s (CUSTOMER SERVICE MANAGER) office is big and spacious, I still don’t know why. I walked in and greeted him, while I wait for shittu with style.
“My oga, na una get this season oo” I engaged my CSM.
“Chelsea una fall hand” he replied just as I expected, without raising his head off his system. “man city go flog una 3=0 for league start, with una complete squad, guy una fall hand” he added as he finally smiled at me. “How the mighty are falling”.
I just smiled as I picked a newspaper lying on his desk. He replied just as I expected and I was not ready to give him the fun.
Just then shittu was ushered in from the bulk room escorted by a bulk room teller. He still looked confident and I wondered how long before he gets sober. He looked at me with a straight face like I was against his claiming his money.
After over two minutes, the teller spoke.
“my oga we have a situation” he said.
The CSM looked at the customer with a smile then back to the teller.
“This customer just laid a complain, he said our ATM paid him fake money”
“Sir, look at the money” shittu cut in, holding the money out.
CSM’s reaction was a big frown. He starred at the money, shittu, the teller, then me like some who doesn’t understand what is really going on around him. He was obviously taken aback and speechless.
“Our ATM dispensed this fake currency to you?” He spoke out, directing his question to shittu with a look.
“Yes sir” shittu replied.
“When was that?”
“On Saturday morning. See the alert” he brought out his phone and showed my CSM.
The room became serious. As far as I am concerned shittu has dug himself in shit. It practically is impossible for ATMs to dispense counterfeit cash. The process involved in screening bank notes is not in anyway porous. To begin with, all tellers are trained to identify and destroy counterfeit bank notes. All the notes stacked in an ATM must pass through a currency counting machine which has the ability to sort and check for damaged or counterfeit notes. Shittu is in real mess, the bank has zero tolerance for fraud. Every bank note stacked in an ATM also passes through a UV(ultraviolet) mercury lamp, which enable the teller see hidden security features of any real bank note when viewed under less lightening. Therefore, these hidden features will be absent in a counterfeit. Lastly, all ATM machines are built to identify and tear fake bank notes.
“Give me your account number” CSM demanded.
Shittu recited his account number and watched as his details were spooled from the system.... in some seconds his account statement displayed on the screen.
“You withdrew two thousand on Saturday by 2:48 pm” CSM said.
“Yes sir” he replied with a tensed voce.
Silence fell on the office. Only the scroll and click of my CSM’s mouse was heard. It lasted for over a minute. Then he called me over to his system and we discussed in whispers.
In his system i was watching the footage that was recorded by our surveillance camera from the ATM machine and those mounted around the ATM. The ATM camera showed that shittu withdrew two thousand naira and left the ATM stand, but the environmental camera showed that he paid a bike man who apparently was waiting for him from the notes he just withdrew from the ATM. The bike man gave him his change and drove off.
The CSM looked at me with a side cheek smile, apparently hoping I understood that shittu spent one of the notes and said “call two mopol from outside”.
I just walked out of his office. I couldn’t look at shittu. But with a side eye I noticed he was not composed anymore.
Of course I called the mopols.
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