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“Hello.” This young lady, clad in a pair of blue jeans and black top, said to me as she tapped her well-manicured index finger on my desk.

“Hello. Please, hold on,” I replied with a smile. Two elderly couple were already on seat and I was attending to them.

She shifted from one foot to the other, mumbling and grunting, letting me know her issue couldn’t wait another second more.

I pretended not to see. I was so used to this attitude in my line of job and I had learnt to deal with it in the calmest way I could.

After attending to the couple, I turned to her. “Yes, how can I help you?”

She flipped her weaves back as she sat down. “I tried to use the ATM this morning. It gave me a dispense error yet I got the alert that my account had been debited.” She tossed her hair back. “The worst is that when I tried to retrieve my card, it won’t come out, so I was told to come here.” She leaned in and tapped my desk again. “I need my card like yesterday. I don’t have time for all this.”

I did all I could not to roll my eyes. Like yesterday, seriously?

When I went through the form I gave her to fill, I discovered she had used her card in another bank. Madam, it looks like your needs will have to wait.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Miss. Since you used another bank’s ATM, you won’t be able to retrieve your card anymore, so you will have to request for another one which will take eight working days to process.”

“What!” Her eyes grew wide. “I need my card like yesterday! What about my money that has been deducted? Oh God, isn’t there someone else I could talk to?”

I gave her a cold stare. Did this girl just suggest that I was incompetent at my job? I shook my head to step down the rising anger within me. I had been mastering how not to let customers determine my mood or spoil my day. I wasn’t there yet; I would get there some day.

I pulled a plain paper from the pile on my desk, thrust it towards her and said calmly. “Please fill in your request and come back after eight working days, your card will be ready and the debit on your account would have been reversed.”

She grumbled but started to write.

I turned to my work and began to file away.

When she was through, she pushed the paper forward and stood up to leave without waiting for me to cross check what she had written.

I went through the form and it was alright though.

“Hello,” a rich, deep voice said.

I looked up and my breath caught in my throat, again.

“Hello,” I croaked.

He smiled. “Awelewa?”

I nodded.

He thrust out his hand. “I am Joba Adebiyi. The guy welcomed back into church yesterday.”

“I know who you are.” I placed my hands in his. Warmth travelled through my body. I took my hands back. “Welcome back.” I managed to say. 

His smile was syrupy. “Thank you. How are you today?”

“I’m great, thank you. Please, sit down, how can I help you?”

He pulled out the chair a little and sat down with his back straight, confidence exuding from him.

God help me through this.

He fixed his cute eyes on me. “Well, I need help in reactivating my dormant account so P.Segz directed me to you.”

“Oh, okay. You will need to present a regulatory ID card and recent utility bill of your current home address,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I came prepared.”

I smiled back. “Okay. I will give you a reactivation form to fill now. Once completed, we can move from there.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He kept that syrupy smile on.

I hope I get through this.

I opened my drawer and brought out the form for him. He perused the form while I pretended to work on my PC, stealing glances at him from time to time. Then, he took out a fountain pen and began to write, his focus totally on the form as if he was writing an exam. I turned my focus back to my PC.

“Here,” he slid the form towards me. “Completed.”

“Alright. Let me have your ID card and utility bill.”

“Okay.” He brought out a brown leather wallet from his pocket and fished for his driver’s license, then opened his moleskin notebook and took out the utility bill. Everything about this guy, from his wallet, to his stationery, to the shoes peeking at my side of the desk, reeked of alpha masculinity that made my heart sing hallelujah.

I stood up and made for the ground floor, the form and other documents in hand. Once I was out of sight, I stole a glance at his driver’s license. He was 3o years old, just two years older than I was, and 1.8 meters tall.

 Some minutes later, after persuading Henry to attend to the account urgently, I went back upstairs, proud of my achievement.

“Your account has been activated,” I announced. “But, you will have to pay in or withdraw from the account to complete the reactivation.”

“Okay, I will do that downstairs,” he replied. “Thank you so much, Awelewa. How do I return the favour?”

I chuckled. “It’s nothing, Pastor. I just did my work.”

“It’s Joba, please.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

“You know,” he said, smiling, “I should buy you dinner sometime, to appreciate you?”

“Oh no,” I said quickly, “you don’t have to do that, Pastor, er, Joba.”

He smiled. “Okay. Thanks all the same. Have a week filled with good things.”

“Amen!”

He shook my hand, looked at me with an intense gaze that melted me all over and walked away.

Like I said yesterday, I am in deep trouble.