IT'S MINE! DON'T TOUCH!

So I work at a bank where it's almost as important to get new checking accounts as it is to run a transaction properly. In fact, it may be more important to get new accounts than to be accurate. Not only is it important, we get bonuses based on how many people open up accounts. I just got a taste of my first bonus and I'm hungry for more. I've never been commissioned based, but it's definitely profitable.

So today, I was helping someone who didn't have an account with us. I tried to softly sell her on an account: she politely declined. I went back to my desk to run my transaction; I was in drive thru and didn't have a station up front where she was. I come back to my customer and find the closest teller giving my customer her card and telling her to come back to her whenever she wants to open that account.

Now, I know, normally, you'd want to hate this teller. How dare she, you reply. But I like this teller. I like everyone I work with except for one person. And I felt more hurt and betrayed than anything else. And I felt like it was time to step up my game. Coming from a sales background, I know what this means. But this whole interaction spurred something much deeper in me.

I have "a thing" about my stuff. I don't like it when people touch my stuff without asking, eat my food, drink my drink, touch my station, use my cups....this could go on and on. I get nervous, edgy, and very angry. And this teller was touching my stuff. Now, I don't know why I've always felt this way. It's not that I didn't learn how to share in kindergarten; I share quite nicely, or, at least, I'd like to think so. But when someone takes something of mine, especially without asking, it triggers a chain reaction of thought and anger so quick, so powerful, and so violent that I hardly know myself when it comes. It takes everything in me to not say something, to throw something, to scream. It's just one checking account; there are plenty others. There's more food; there's a store down the street. Cups are reusable; it doesn't get damaged by someone else using it. But this irrational fear often pops up. And the inner kid in me screams, "IT'S MINE! DON'T TOUCH!"

Is this part of being borderline? Or just being mentally ill in general? Or am I just not mature enough to handle the basics of sharing?