Managers Song Byeong-jun, Hong Hui-gyeong, and Hwang Jae-ik knew Bae and I were endlessly shuttling between the vault and our desks, but didn't even look over. ......So that's how this place works. Bae even took out the foreign currency and placed it on the shelf behind Song's chair, and he paid no attention to that either. As we scurried back and forth like ants, the new recruit, Bu Ha-yun, cautiously approached and began carrying the cash boxes set out on the vault floor.
Once most of the supplies needed for opening were out, I received a hundred 50,000-won notes, a hundred 10,000-won notes, a hundred 5,000-won notes, a hundred 1,000-won notes, forty 500-won coins, fifty 100-won coins, fifty 50-won coins, and fifty 10-won coins. A total of 6,628,000 won. I accepted 6,628,000 won from the head teller on the system and another 6,628,000 won in physical cash, then trudged to my desk. Bu was receiving her cash too. Bae also gave me a coin tray so worn it looked ready to disintegrate. It had probably been Yu's.
I removed the paper bands, ran each stack through the counter to check it held a hundred notes, and sorted them into my drawer by denomination. The machine sounded odd. Its rollers occasionally chewed a note.
Don't do this to me on my first day. Just in case, I counted by hand and tossed the money into the appropriate compartments. The drawers behind a bank counter are slightly unusual. They have separate spaces for 50,000-, 10,000-, 5,000-, and 1,000-won notes, making it easy to put money in and take it out. I wasn't allowed to keep more than a hundred of any denomination. That made 6,628,000 won my maximum starting cash. I'd work with this money all day. Even if a robber held a knife to my throat and demanded everything, that was all the cash at my station. The next day, I'd keep working with the same holdings, adjusted up or down. Until I transferred or resigned, this cash would grow or shrink as I worked.
If I had too much, I'd hand it to the head teller. If I was running very short, I'd request more. I couldn't hold more than a hundred notes of each denomination. Only the head teller could.
Suppose a customer wanted to withdraw 20,000,000 won in cash. With only about 6,620,000 won on hand, I'd request 20,000,000 through the system, receive the system transfer, then go to the head teller for the physical 20,000,000. We'd both check that the amount handed over was correct. Back at my station, the withdrawal transaction had to take 20,000,000 out of my system balance, and I had to hand the customer the same amount in cash.
The reverse worked similarly. Say a customer brought in 8,000,000 won in 10,000-won notes to deposit. I'd take it, run it through the counter, check that it made eight stacks of a hundred, wrap each stack in a paper band, and stamp the side to show I'd counted it. Posting the deposit would bring my 10,000-won holdings to nine hundred notes, so I'd transfer 8,000,000 to the head teller both on the system and in cash. The head teller would confirm receipt in both forms. That left my original hundred 10,000-won notes, on the screen and in the drawer.
Once I processed the 6,628,000-won handover from the head teller, the amount displayed on my system became 6,628,000 won.
[System: 6,628,000 won / Physical cash: 6,628,000 won]
The system balance and actual cash always had to match. A discrepancy meant serious trouble. Something had been processed incorrectly. It could keep you from going home or cause headaches for days, weeks, even months.
Rarely, a customer might bring in more than a billion won. Honestly, leaving that much in a drawer while you went to lunch or the bathroom could be frightening. There were all kinds of reasons to worry. A customer might suddenly leap over the counter and steal it. Another banker might lose their mind and steal a colleague's cash. A robber could turn up while you were away. Imagination bred fear, but things that sounded imaginary really did happen in banks. If my cash disappeared, I was responsible.
When an ordinary teller suddenly found themselves with a large amount like that, they'd ask the head teller to take it. The head teller would verify the sum and move it into the vault.
That was the theory. In practice, when everyone was run off their feet, the head teller couldn't handle every employee's cash handovers in real time. Large sums were therefore usually handed over after the counters closed at four. Until then, we tossed the bundles into our drawers and locked them. That was why retail bankers had so many drawers, nearly all empty apart from one or two for paperwork. They were for cash. Cards and mobile payments had once greatly reduced cash use, but it had surged after reunification.
I first checked that Yu's old drawers locked. They didn't even have combination locks. They were made of wood so old I wondered how long they'd been in use, with traditional key locks. The keys lay conspicuously on the desk, presumably left by Yu. Looking around the branch, I saw that everyone else had combination-lock drawers. Only Yu had used an old keyed set. A relic even Hwapyeong wouldn't use, still in service here.
I can't start complaining the moment I arrive. Fine. This drawer key is part of me now.
I opened the day's product and loan interest rates on my screen. Customers asked about them more than anything else. Answering without realizing they'd changed could mean trouble. It was past eight fifteen as I prepared to open. I was wiping down the desk, mouse, note counter, card issuer, passbook printer, tablet, and anything else in reach when we were suddenly called into the manager's office for a morning meeting.
I grabbed a notebook and whichever pen was handy. There weren't enough seats for everyone. Four large sofas surrounded a large table, but even squeezed together, ten people would struggle to fit. I stood at the back against the wall. Watching everyone settle, the branch manager spoke.
“Welcome to Taecheon. Our branch never relinquishes first place in sales within the Pyeongan region.”
I drew a small question mark in my notebook. My previous branch, Hwapyeong, had ranked last. Kim Seong-a had been retiring and had no intention of chasing sales. Our KPIs were close to rock bottom. Ma continued.
“Starting today, new staff will work to Taecheon's standards. Doing things by halves will not do here. Watch your colleagues and learn how to come first. First place is not luck. It comes from producing results endlessly, day after day. If you intend to drift through life and drift into death, why live at all? Living means working hard and achieving results. Laziness does not exist at Taecheon. And results bring rewards. Conversely, without results, there are no rewards, and we have no need of excuses. You worked hard but have nothing to show for it? That is the same as not working. Remember that results are everything. Work intelligently. Who is the better employee: someone who produces nothing and wastes time on customers, or someone who focuses precisely on the targets the branch needs?”
By Ma's standards, the Hwapyeong staff hadn't worked at all.
“We did not earn the title of best branch for nothing. The bank recognizes our performance and rewards us. Those of you who have just arrived may not yet understand what an honor it is to work here. You may not realize what an opportunity this is. You can take away as much as you put in. Show us you are not lazy, useless people. Then I, your branch manager, will give you every support to achieve results. Whatever you need, I will provide. New employees must take the initiative and work with the intention of bringing in business. Never forget that I am always behind you.”
At Hwapyeong, we'd received the smallest performance bonuses, but the atmosphere had been good. Would I rather earn less with almost no sales pressure, or earn more while constantly being abused for falling short? I'd choose the first. Not everyone would. Plenty of bankers were ambitious for promotion. I wasn't one of them.
Listening to Ma, I got the impression that Taecheon wrung bankers and customers like wet rags, squeezing out sales in streams. And he was apparently very good at it.
Below Ma at Taecheon was Deputy Branch Manager Kim Jong-do, then Senior Managers Lee Tae-bong and Gu Ji-hye. The managers were Hwang Jae-ik, Hong Hui-gyeong, and the newly promoted Song Byeong-jun. Bae Seo-yeon was the only assistant manager. Below her, in order of joining, were me, Eun Su-won, the brand-new Officer Bu Ha-yun, and the intern, Ji Geon-u. Then there was security officer Park Sang-ryong. Only Bu, Ji, and I were new. It was obvious who was targeted by this promise to make us work hard enough to produce results.
The manager stopped talking about sales and asked us to introduce ourselves. I went first, saying I was Eun Su-won from Hwapyeong. Out of habit, I added that I looked forward to working with everyone and would do my best. Bu followed.
“I'm Bu Ha-yun, a new recruit. I look forward to working with you.”
“I'm Ji Geon-u, the new intern. I look forward to working with you. I'll do my best!”
The manager smiled, applauded, and made remarks about our spirit. Then he announced a welcome dinner after work. Some beef restaurant. Judging by the managers' indifferent reactions, they'd been there many times. He said credit cards were the branch's biggest shortfall and ordered us to fill it quickly.
“Each new employee will bring in a hundred credit card applications by the end of this month. Manager Hong, you will lead the effort and keep track.”
“Yes, Branch Manager.”
Hong nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting. A hundred credit cards? Stealing a hundred people's IDs sounds easier. Where am I supposed to find a hundred applications out of nowhere? Excluding weekends, a month averaged twenty working days. That meant at least five a day. Work in a branch and you learn how hard even five credit card applications a day can be. Ji kept smiling, perhaps thinking the manager was joking. I nodded vaguely and wrote Credit cards: 100 in my notebook without expression. Every time the manager opened his mouth, more life drained from Bu's smiling face.
When the meeting ended and we were dismissed, I left feeling as though Ma Seong-geon had already sucked out my soul.