He who seeks good finds goodwill, but evil comes to him who searches for it (Proverbs 11:27).

I'm standing in line at the bank, waiting for my turn to make a few deposits.  The line in front of me is four or five people long, but I'm not in a hurry.  I look around at the bank and its professionally-designed interior:  furniture, espresso machine, bankers' attire, lighting fixtures, and even plants all color-coordinated, green and gold, with a pleasant mix of textures to create a sense of friendly, yet efficient business.  I look at the women working at the long marbled counter, wearing seemingly coordinated business suits in shades of gray and navy blue, covered with a conservative amount of neutral cosmetics, and topped with well-kept hair in variations of blond, brown, and black.  I look at the other men and women in line, there to do their banking and guess at their vocations in life:  a college student depositing a check from his parents, a painter on his lunch break, a retired man about to make a $20 withdrawal simply as an excuse for social interaction, a two-year-old toddler squirming in the arms of his frenzied mother as she looks anxiously towards the jar of candy.  The bank is a microcosm of class, economics, and society in general.

When the painter is called to the desk, he unfolds a wrinkled sheet of paper from the side pocket of his well-worn painter's pants.  The lines in his forehead deepen, and he eyes exude a sense of suspicion and paranoia.  The woman on the other side of the counter asks how she might be able to help him, and he grumbles, "You money-grubbing bastards assessed me another $25 in 'service charges,' and I want to talk to a manager about it."  The bank worker talks back to him in smooth, honeyed, customer-service tones, asking if she can see the paper and try to help provide an explanation.  The painter recoils, "I'm not gonna let you have the paper, or you'll steal that, too!  This is my evidence, and I'll use it if I have to -- but I want to talk to a manager RIGHT NOW!"  He raises his voice in a way that stops all other movement in the bank.  Even the fidgety toddler becomes still, turning his head towards the loud noise to see what's happening.  The bank worker assures him that he will be welcome to talk to the manager, as soon as he is finished with his meeting in another 10 or 15 minutes -- though, of course, she would be willing to try and look through things together with him in the meantime.  "Aw, you money-grubbing bastards are all the same!" growls the painter.  "You got no time for a regular guy like me.  The manager is 'too busy' sitting in there with some fat-cat, planning out his 'investment portfolio' or something like that."  His voice bleeds sarcasm and he scratches the tense air between him and the bank worker with his air-quotes.  "I've had enough!  I'm gonna take my banking elsewhere, if I can't get some respect around here.  I'm coming back in 10 minutes, missy, and your manager better be ready to talk to me -- you hear?  I shall return," he vows, as if he were General Douglas MacArthur leaving the Philippines.  Everyone else in the bank is noticeably tensed until the door slams behind him on his way out to the street, where it seems safe to assume that he will chain-smoke three and a half cigarettes while nervously checking his watch until the promised 10 minutes have passed.

The bank worker, however, cracks a nervous smile and looks at the next person in the line -- the elderly gentleman with seemingly all the time in the world -- bidding him to step forward so that she can assist him.  He hobbles up to the counter, sets his paperwork down in front of him, and smiles at the woman across the counter.  "Good afternoon," he says.  "What a pretty necklace you're wearing!"  The bank worker smiles back, silently accepting the compliment.  "I think you handled that situation in a very professional way," the gentleman says in a fatherly tone while gesturing towards the door through which the painter had just stormed out of the building.  The woman smiles again and thanks him, her voice more genuine this time but once again asking how she might be able to help him.  "Oh, of course," the gentleman says, rousing himself, as if he had almost forgotten the reason why he came to the bank at all.  "Right.  Well, you see, I've kept my money with this bank for almost fifty years now, and I know that you're good people who take good care of your customers.  But, you see, I just got this bank statement in the mail and it looks like there was some kind of deduction for 'service charges,' in the amount of $25.  Could you please explain that to me, miss?"  He was almost apologetic in the way he asked.  "It could just be that I'm confused," he chuckled.  "But if you could help me to understand where that was coming from, I'd be very much obliged."  The bank worker assured him that she'd be glad to talk through everything with him and get to the bottom of things...

I didn't get to hear the rest of the conversation, as I was called up to the next available teller to conduct business of my own.  But I had already learned a valuable lesson from watching the banking interactions of the Painter and the Retiree.

"He who seeks good finds goodwill, but evil comes to him who searches for it."  Life is, to a surprisingly large extent, what we make of it.  When we go into a situation believing the best about another person (or institution), we are often treated to their best.  But when we go into a situation suspecting the worst about another person (or institution), our experience is -- not coincidentally -- often a sour one.  Our attitude going into a conversation can often make a significant difference in the way that the conversation plays itself out.  Even if all other factors end up being exactly the same -- with the same facts involved, the same practical constraints, the same eventual outcomes, be it a $25 bank fee or whatever -- the emotional effect of the experience on each one of us will be very heavily determined by our mindset, whether we're on a quest for good or for evil.  It really is up to you:  Are you going to be a Painter or a Retiree?