Whirl Girl

I stormed into the bank, on a mission. I am moving and I have very little time to squander. With me I had my tiny green paper envelope which contained the special key for the lock box. I accosted the first bank employee I came across. A female, young, unfriendly. She was useless. Couldn't get anything to work right.
I grumbled about incompetence.
A man came along and tried to intervene. He

fumbled and dropped the keys.
I had some scathing utterances for him too.
I was bristlingly out of patience.
Then they were telling me the envelopes for their bank keys are red, not green.
I was in the wrong bank.
They united in a front

and crossed their arms, smirks spreading.
I mumbled an apology and swallowed down hard on some humble pie. The walk to the front door felt like a million miles.

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