Wells Fargo

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At Wells Fargo, every morning around sunrise, a regular would arrive early and whisper something into the old safe's keyhole. His dog, a small terrier named Max, always perked up its ears at these mysterious sounds. One day, a delivery driver arrived with an oversized package. Curious, he asked what was whispered each morning. The old man grinned and said only ‘the password to open your heart.’ Max barked excitedly as if understanding everything. From then on, whenever anyone mentioned the safe, Max would wag his tail and look expectantly towards it—even though nothing ever changed inside.

2. At Wells Fargo, whenever a new baby arrived in town, an old cat would appear exactly at closing time and sit right outside the door. The tellers never saw it during business hours, only after everyone left. One evening, an excited delivery driver rushed into the bank, shouting, ‘I brought you something special!’ The teller looked up curiously as the man approached with a tiny basket. To their surprise, inside was not just any kitten but a tiny, sleepy newborn—clearly confused between the bank’s closing hour and its own nap time. Everyone burst out laughing when they realized the old cat had finally found her perfect retirement job.

3. At Wells Fargo, every Wednesday afternoon, a delivery driver would pull up just before closing time with a mysterious package. No one knew what it contained until he quickly slipped inside and whispered something to the night manager. Finally, after whispering his secret, the driver would slip out, leaving everyone puzzled but none the wiser. On Thursday mornings, someone from accounting would arrive early, take the package, and disappear into their office for hours—never revealing its contents. It was a ritual that lasted decades, until one day an old janitor confessed: ‘It’s always been a box of donuts!’

4. At Wells Fargo, every Thursday night, a mysterious figure would enter the bank lobby just after closing time. Silently unlocking a hidden door, they’d emerge carrying a large violin case. Finally, everyone in town learned that the secret visitor was actually just an enthusiastic local musician who practiced late into the night. Every Thursday, he played his violin for the empty lobby until one Thursday when, exhausted from practicing, he fell asleep on the bench. The next morning, a confused bank manager found him there, still holding his violin—and a pile of crumpled sheet music labeled ‘Bank Lobby Impromptus.’