This Is Why I Can't Have Nice Things

I posted once about how my nerdiness led to an embarrassing conversation with a woman at my church office. Let me reassure you all that sometimes I just put my foot in my mouth and it has nothing to do with me being a nerd.

Here's the backstory: 
Because I am a prepper, I frequently carry spare bits of emergency cash secreted about my person. One of those stashes was (I need to replenish it) a $100 bill folded in half and carried between the sole and the liner of a pair of shoes I wear every day.

For the curious, I keep the money there because 1) I'm highly unlikely to lose or forget to put on my shoes when going out, and 2) it's such a hassle to untie my shoe, take it off, remove the liner, retrieve the cash, and then put the shoe back on that it prevents me from using the money for impulse buys.

However, because the bill is between liner and sole, it gets a bit worn and shiny due to the friction that occurs when my foot causes the liner to slide just the tiniest amount inside my shoe with each passing step.

And here's why I can't have nice things:
My finances were running a bit tight due to going out of town, and so I dipped into emergency money to deposit into my bank account. This way, automatic bills would be paid instead of rejected for insufficient funds, and I could gas up my car at the pump with a debit card instead of going inside to pay the cashier. 

Having retrieved the cash from my shoe (at home, not at the bank! I'm not a barbarian), I went up to the teller to deposit the cash. When she asked how she could help, I slid the unfolded bill across the counter and said I wanted to deposit this. And then I said -- and it's critical that you let me explain my reasoning here, because you see I figured that a worn, shiny $100 bill might look slightly questionable in a counterfeit sort of way and I wanted to reassure her that it wasn't fake, just worn -- I said "I've been keeping it in my shoe for the past year or so just for an emergency like this. That's shoe money right there." Then I laughed, you see, because I wanted her to find it funny and not suspicious. 

And that's when I realized that I'd just told the teller -- ha ha! -- that the bill she'd picked up with her bare fingers had been in my shoe for a year and was probably damp with foot sweat and stinky from foot funk. I might as well have told her "Yeah, you know how I shook your hand just now? You probably want to know that I didn't wash my hands after going to the bathroom. Well, have fun!"

It is worth noting that the teller was both young (in her twenties and still in college) and very attractive. You know, exactly the kind of person I find appealing and whose opinion matters to me because let's be honest, I'm lonely and sexually frustrated and socially awkward. 

And I told her that she was touching foot money with her bare fingers. 

THAT is why I can't have nice things. 

Needless to say, I slunk out of the bank lobby and I haven't returned since.