Funny Joke: A blond walks into a bank (for the last time)

A blond walks into a bank (for the last time)

A chic and extravagantly adorned lady saunters up to a bank manager in a bustling Manhattan financial institution and inquires about borrowing $5,000. The manager, intrigued but professional, proceeds with the procedures and inquires if she possesses any assets for collateral.

“Certainly,” she proclaims, “does a quarter-million-dollar sports car parked outside qualify?”

“That most certainly qualifies,” responds the bank manager, initiating the loan paperwork. “The car will need to be stored in our bank’s garage, though.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” she replies with a subtle grin.

“Just to let you know, we do charge for parking,” he mentions.

The woman is taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“Fortunately, we offer a special rate for collateral parking. It’s quite minimal,” he clarifies.

The elegant lady appears genuinely confounded now.

“But hold on, that’s not how this is supposed to go. Doesn’t the parking end up being free in the usual scenario?”

The manager cocks his head, puzzled. “Usual scenario?”

“Yes, in the classic telling of our story. Isn’t the free parking the amusing twist at the end?”

Throwing a skeptical look, the manager counters, “You mean to tell me we should just let you park gratis for the sake of a narrative punchline? As amusing as that may be, it’s hardly a sound financial practice.”

“Isn’t that the essence of your role?” she argues, a hint of desperation in her voice. “Have you ever done anything else here besides negotiate this exact deal with me, using my car as leverage?”

The manager rubs his forehead, exhausted. “Why are you even looking to save on parking if you’re affluent? Isn’t avoiding such hassles part of the wealth experience?”

She bursts into tears, “It’s madness; it truly is! I’m not even confident in my own wealth. My whole existence seems confined to this loop—a perpetual reiteration of this situation, seeking a loan, yearning for the parking arbitrage. Without this narrative, what’s my purpose? Why would anyone share such a story?”

Leaning closer, the manager confesses in hushed tones, “I hear you. And frankly, I don’t wish to fade into oblivion either. The higher-ups, though, they’re on to the ruse with the garage. This charade might not last.”

Wiping away her tears, her eyes ignite with resolve.

“Let’s take a leap of faith,” she declares. “There must be more to life than this weakly scripted existence, right?”

“I hardly find any joy in such a threadbare plot and its unsatisfying climax,” he agrees.

“Then let’s escape. If I’m to trust my lines, there’s a car waiting out there for us,” she suggests. “What say we abandon this office, drive until banks are a distant memory and parking is abundant?”

“And if someone attempts to reenact our joke?” he asks anxiously.

“We simply reject our roles. If prompted, we’ll turn them back to this conclusion.”

With that, the fashionable lady of indeterminate hair color and the bank manager step through the door, vanishing into an uncertain future, determined to never rematch the steps of their erstwhile joke.

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