I went to the bank today. This wasn’t the usual swipe-my-card, make-a-withdrawal trip to the ATM. This was a visit to the bank’s inner sanctum, that vestige of old-world commerce that relies on people more than machines. Sometimes one needs banking services that exceed the capabilities of an ATM, that require an actual human in the role of teller.

That’s why I went today, Thursday, when my local branch is open late. I showed up around 5 p.m., prepared for the usual wait at the teller window. Experience has taught that Thursday evenings are busy, with customers on their way home from work, walk-in traffic, an array of business.

When I arrived, three tellers stood at their respective windows, and a handful of employees sat at nearby desks in cubicles.

“Where is everyone?” I asked the teller, gesturing to my right, then left, noting the absence of customers.

“We’re all here!” another teller called out.

It was an odd sight. Seven employees stood ready to serve the assembled multitudes, which, for the duration of my visit, consisted of, well, me. Not only was the typical line of customers missing; there wasn’t a soul who entered the bank during the 15 minutes I was there.

What’s wrong with this picture?

I engaged the teller in some speculation. I wondered whether many of the common cash transactions could now be done at ATMs. Or perhaps online banking diverted certain activities to the Internet. Or maybe, as the teller suggested, it was simpler than all that ”“ just a nice sunny day keeping people outdoors.

As she handed me the cashier’s check that had prompted my visit, she apologized for the $7 fee it incurred. Yes, you have several active accounts at the bank, she noted. And, yes, these fees are unfortunate, perhaps even unfair, her tone seemed to suggest. Ordinarily I would have agreed with her, even protested a bit. But I let it ride.

For a moment, the fee seemed more like a donation to the revival of banking past, to a time when evening hours demanded the presence of a staff.

But that time is long since gone, tucked into the digital fabric of modern life.

I doubt that technology will ever fully replace the need for tellers, for the very reason I went to the bank today. Only humans can perform certain tasks and address certain questions adequately. The down side, of course, is that we’re also the only species prone to “human error,” which may explain the curious over-staffing of my local branch on Thursday nights.

— Joan Silverman’s work has appeared in numerous publications including The Christian Science Monitor, Chicago Tribune, and Houston Chronicle. She lives in Kennebunk.