About this location
A few stories people tell about this place
1. It was an unseasonably warm autumn morning when the teller at The National Bank of Indianapolis noticed something peculiar. A delivery driver, usually so punctual with his packages, had parked his truck in front of the bank and was standing motionless, staring through the glass doors. Finally, another customer approached him, tapping on his shoulder. ‘Hey,’ she said, smiling, ‘aren’t you supposed to be delivering those boxes?’ The driver blinked a few times before sheepishly turning around—only to realize he’d left his lunch break at the nearby diner and forgotten everything else. The teller chuckled and waved goodbye as he rushed off, muttering something about needing to catch up with his neighbors.
2. It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon when a delivery driver pulled up to The National Bank's loading dock. As he opened the back door of his truck, something caught his eye—a small, dusty wooden box lying among the packages. As he picked it up, he noticed an old keychain with ‘Indiana Jones’ engraved on it. Turns out, it belonged to an enthusiastic security guard who’d been pretending to be Indiana Jones during lunch breaks. The bank never found out, and the story became a neighborhood joke until this day.
3. It was a typical Thursday morning when a delivery driver pulled up to The National Bank. As he approached the front door, he noticed something odd on the security camera feed: a familiar face peering through the glass, mouthing the words ‘Open now!’ As he got closer, he saw an old neighbor waving frantically from outside. Turns out, the guy had forgotten his own PIN and needed help logging in. After a few minutes of confused banter, they managed to get him inside, and everyone had a good laugh over coffee later that day.
4. It was a routine Tuesday morning when a regular noticed something odd coming from the basement vault. A soft, rhythmic tapping echoed through the bank's empty corridors, like someone gently drumming on metal. Curious, he followed the sound and found an old safe-deposit box, its lid slightly ajar. Inside lay a sleepy squirrel, clutching a nut in one paw and wearing a confused expression. Turns out, it had been storing winter provisions and accidentally locked itself in. The regular freed the little guy with a smile, earning him a grateful chirp and a promise never to tell anyone about the bank’s furry resident.}