bank teller, tee me off why dont you

i woke up later then i should i have today, most likely as a result of residuals from chemicals i had put into myself the day before, and decided that in the hours before work i needed to go to the bank, run and eat. first thing first, i decided to go to the bank, and with my cow-licks still in tact hobbled out of the shit shack of my house, tapping the walls as i exited to let the rats know whose boss.
and im in my car driving.
after a couple of lazy lane changes i make it to the bank, and what aught to be the highlight of my day, the deposit of two modest checks into my savings account (the reserves of which will now most certainly be relegated towards a new computer (see previous blog)), turns into a big pain in my ass. I send my two checks along with my bank card and vintage ID through the wonder tube, only to have the two checks (not my license and bank card) sent back to me via space tunnel, with the teller on the other line to ask me this:
teller: excuse me mr. culver can you sign the back of these checks with a signature as it looks on your drivers license
me: well i signed my name to that license about 7 years ago, and for the last 6 years have been signing my name as you see it on the back of my checks
teller: well we've had some problem with fraud on checks, so i'm going to need you to try.

so in what seemed a total foreign act/experience i tried to imagine what my signature looked like on my license (since the jackass kept it) and then, again, made a mark that looked nothing like my name let alone english script. As i stared at the pathetic scrawl my pen had just defecated (it should also be noted that the two "repeat" signatures looked nothing alike), i had momentary flashbacks to my early elementary days of berated penmanship, and those teachers who would get some smug sick pleasure using as an example for the classa sheet of my cursive practice as "how not to write"

any how, i sent the two notably less authentic signature signed checks back to the teller, and as i waited for a response began to imagine the epic that lied ahead. i'd have to go into the bank, and show other forms of I.D., be patronized by some bank employee much as i was in grade school about how "i really aught to work on my penmanship", be late to work, not go on a run, buy a jimmy johns sub for dinner bc i was to lazy to pack, reget the fact that i bought one of these damn sandwhichs at least twice a week bc i was too lazy to make one before work. and then

teller: thanks Mr. Culver, have a great day
me: yeah you too