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All the Rage 憤怒鳥

I was standing in line at Citibank to deposit a check. It was lunch time in Central and the branch was bursting at the seams. The customer in front of me, a middle-aged gentleman in a tailored suit, asked to take out five thousand Euros in cash. Behind the counter was a teller who couldn’t have been more than six months out of university. Her name was proudly embossed on her lapel pin: Trainee. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cheung,” said Trainee to the gentleman, before explaining that she didn’t have enough Euros and that a day’s notice was normally required for withdrawals over a certain amount. Bank policy. She asked him to either collect the cash the next day or try the main branch. There is a green monster in all of us What followed, however, was an unstoppable tirade from the not-so-gentle-man over a situation he called an “outrage” and a “waste of everyone’s time,” all delivered with the usual hysterics: clenched jaw, flapping arms and a face as red as a ripe tomato. This Br