Blond Redemption

I have been like one giant pity party lately. It's getting to the point that I'm annoying myself, and we can't have that! Poor Caleb has been walking on eggshells around me. One second I'm happy and laughing and talking about how thankful I am for all that I have. The next second, somebody posts some complaint about their pregnancy, then Dega runs away even though he's been so good about coming back inside, and soon everything has spiraled completely out of control. And I mean, I'm eating cake because that always solves everything,  Dega is locked in his kennel because I'm mad at the little stinker, and I'm about two "I'm sick of morning sickness" posts away from blocking any girl who is or ever has been pregnant, but I know me, and I know the best way to feel better is to write, and to write about something else completely!
Besides, this is a story everyone needs to hear.
We'll call it, Blond Redemption.
A few months ago I was sitting at work when this older man, probably in his 70's or 80's, came up to my station. The first thing he did was look me up and down, roll his eyes dramatically, and say, "Great, I have the blond helping me!" He then looked down the row and noticed one other blond and two brunettes and somehow came to the conclusion, "I don't have any other choice! Do you guys only hire blonds?" I would also just like to point out that my hair is currently like 83% brunette, so whatever, dude.
Trying to stay professional, I simply laughed, ha ha ha aren't you a riot and asked what I could do for him. He pulled a debit card out of his wallet, tossed it at me, and continued to address the entire bank. "Did you hear about the blond who..." I don't remember the joke, because it wasn't that funny. But the ending of this story is.
Everyone laughed politely at his rude and unnecessary joke, and meanwhile, I couldn't find his account in our system. "Sir, I can't seem to find you. Is your name spelled differently than it is on this card?" He ignored me and lit up as he realized he had what was probably an endless plethora of blond jokes all stored up and ready to go. He was going to be here all day.
After two more blond jokes, he got a call. He turned to me and asked what our address was. I told him, "98 South Main" then quickly corrected, "I mean North Main! Sorry!" Oooooooooh did he get a kick out of that. "Look at this girl! She can't even tell the difference between North and South! How on earth did a blond like you get a job at a bank? Did you hear the one about the blond who..." Finally, getting really irritated, I tried interrupting him.
"Sir, I'm really not finding your account. Do you have another form of ID on you?" He rolled his eyes and, in the most patronizing way he could possibly muster, he pointed to his card and said, "See those numbers, sweetie? Type that in to your computer, there, ok?"
By this point, I was about done with his attitude. I was chanting the mantra respect your elders over and over in my head, but man what I would have done for a good old old-man grey-haired joke right then. But instead I took a deep breath and said, "I can't look up your account with this card, this is from Wells Fargo." The man took his card back and his face went white as a sheet.
"W-what bank is this?" he asked.
"This is Zions..." I said, unable to help the huge grin that was forming on my dumb-blond face.
Just then, his two sons (the ones who had called him earlier) walked in the doors, looking confused.
"Dad? What are you doing here? We've been waiting for you at Wells Fargo for 15 minutes!"
I might be blond (sort of) but HE WAS IN THE WRONG BANK.
Karma never felt so good.