Citibank

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At dusk, when most banks are quiet and empty, an old man in a tweed suit would appear outside Citibank's front door. He carried no briefcase or laptop, just a small notebook and pencil. Every night, he would sit on the curb, taking notes furiously until the last teller disappeared inside. One evening, a delivery driver noticed him and asked what he was doing. The old man replied, 'I'm writing a novel about life inside your local branch.' The next day, everyone brought him coffee and snacks, and soon Citibank had its own unofficial writer-in-residence.

2. At closing time one day, a Citibank employee noticed something peculiar on the security camera feed. A familiar face—an elderly gentleman who always parked his bicycle outside—was seen pedaling backwards into the building, his helmet equipped with a small sign reading ‘Backdoor Access for Senior Citizens Only.’ The employee blinked twice and shrugged—it was either an elaborate prank or the most creative senior citizen ever. The old man calmly rode up to the reception desk, smiled, and said, 'Good afternoon, I’ve come in through the back door as usual.' Everyone burst out laughing, including the bewildered security guard.

3. Late one night, as a delivery driver approached the Citibank, he heard a strange humming sound coming from inside. Curious but cautious, he peered through the glass door and saw nothing unusual—until he noticed the neon sign above flickering with an eerie green glow. Suddenly, a friendly voice called out from behind him: ‘Hey, mate! Just testing the new security lights!’ Turning around, the delivery driver saw his neighbor waving cheerfully. The neon sign blinked back to normal, and they both laughed, realizing it was just another late-night prank in their quiet neighborhood.

4. Late one night, as a delivery driver approached the Citibank, he caught a whiff of something unusual—a faint scent of freshly baked cookies wafting from inside. Curious, he tiptoed closer and peered through the glass door. Inside, a familiar figure was busy wrapping packages in colorful paper—none other than the bank’s friendly teller, Mrs. Johnson. She waved cheerfully, calling out, ‘Delivery guy, come on in! We’re having a little after-hours party!’ The driver shook his head, smiling, thinking, ‘Next time I’ll bring my appetite instead of cash.’