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Monday, January 31, 2005

An American Place

Before depositing my check I endorsed it intentionally with the wrong signature. She would spot the mistake and I would be forced to proclaim that I am an artist.

-I'm sorry, force of habit, I used my artist's signature.
-But that isn't your name.
-It is my name; it's my name as an artist.
-I'm sorry sir, but it's not the name on your account.
-But's it's me.
-Sir, the check is not made out to that name.
-I'm the same person.
-Sir, it's the same name I need.
-I can show you a signed painting.
-No sir, it's signed check I need to see.
-A painting can legally be a check you know?
-Sir if you would like to deposit this check please sign the back with your name as it appears on the front.
-You know Pollock's first name wasn't Jackson?
-Sir?
-What sort of place won't allow artists to be artists?
-This is a bank sir.

After endorsing my check, I collected my car keys from the shelf under the Edward Hopper poster, and left, destined for greatness.

2 Comments:

At 9:18 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I like that exchange, did it really happen? It reads like beautiful fiction.

Elise Tomlinson

 
At 7:45 AM, Blogger Verne Gripes said...

Too often.

Strictly speaking it's a composite exchange from two different occasions, but every time it recurs it seems to play out exactly as is - with my parts all spoken in my head of course.

 

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