At the risk of spreading blind bankism, all banks are financial institutions.

As good old Charlie Braun, the elderly bank guard, escorted the vagrant away, he, not the bank guard, who recently earned a certificate for 25 years of excellence on the job, nor the old man with his blue velvet bag with the golden drawstring converting coins to dollars, but the vagrant, shook off the padded trench coat and removed the long grizzled gray beard covering his face.

He looked very familiar. It was not until he donned the monocle over his right eye that it became very clear. It was the beloved, Mr. Peanut®.

He shook his cane over his head, and said, “If this is how you treat a commoner, I will take my banking elsewhere.” He left the bank in a huff. He was so angry; he went around the revolving door twice.

In retrospect, it should have been apparent that it was Mr. Peanut from his peanut-shaped body.

The head banker stood proudly and stated, “We don’t want your blood money in our bank anyway.”

Most of the onlookers thought that the head banker’s words were cowardly and ineffective since Mr. Peanut® had left the building.