The hairdresser's tales

I had a haircut this afternoon. I usually find it had to maintain a conversation with a hairdresser, probably because I find small-talk difficult, and knowing nothing about sport doesn't help either. She asked where I work, and then told me that before my current employer occupied the building, it was home of the Reserve Bank, where her parents worked and met. Her father was a printer, and her mother worked in a laboratory developing raised ink so that blind people could 'read' money. There were also plans to infuse different denominations with different scents, but the idea was shelved when it was realised the scents would wear-off after time. She told me that only three men knew the combination to access the huge vault on the top floor. When they all died within the space of a week, the vault had to be blown open with explosives to access the money. And another tale; they used an industrial hole-punch to cut holes (about the size of bottle-tops) in notes that were to be deleted from circulation. A resourceful cleaner would sweep up all the punched-out bits, and match them up with the decommissioned notes, thus earning himself thousands of dollars. He was caught when a colleague told him the story of what was happening, and he admitted that it was him. He didn't realise there was anything wrong with his activity, as the notes were being thrown away anyway. Apart from the haircut, I also had lunch at Spicy Fish Restaurant again. I had the new item on the menu; stewed chicken with spring onion sauce, which was fantastic. Can't recommend this place enough.