The bank teller, who looks like the guy off Reporting Scotland has landed them, and we have landed up in a long queue behind them.
Them are a man and woman who are both leaning into the glass partition, breathing on it, wiping it, and she's drooping her head down now and then and casting glances towards a pal who sits on a chair by the door.
He is speaking, in a loud, slow voice with particular attention to enunciation.
"And then when we looks at the cashline it says that there isn't any money. 'N' we knew therr should be money in wir account."
The bank teller purses his lips and looks down, clearly considering what route to start down next. "And, did you attempt to use the card after you discovered the money was missing from the account?" he says, without looking at the couple.
Both in their early 30s, he is unshaven. Both look unwashed with dirty, lank hair. This is noteworthy cos both are wearing brand spanking new tracksuits of navy blue with white stripes running down the legs and arms. Their trainers are snowy white, not a mark on them, thick white laces, clean rubber soles.
"Yes, well," he continues "We went intae Home Bargains efter that and we spent three or four pounds and then, then," he looks at her and she is staring at him with a fierce look of bewilderment. She doesn't seem to realise he's looking for a memory jog from her and just keeps her eyes trained on him.
The teller is tracing his pen lightly over a sheet of paper in front of him and doesn't speak, only glances quickly up and away again.
"We went intae a shop in Cessnock efter that," he says, nodding.
"Aye, we did," she whines, suddenly breaking her silence and looking over to where her pal is standing fidgeting now at the entrance to the bank. "That's right, we did, so we did," she slurs.
The bank teller nods and excuses himself. He will have to go and check a few things, and with that he disappears.
At this, the woman half runs over to her pal and cries out in too loud a voice, "Thir gonnae get the polis."
The pal is a gallus wee madam, dressed in the same haute couture of the tracksuit world, and she just shrugs with a relaxed laugh, "Naw, naw, jist leave it. Jist leave it." And the three of them stand together, united in their own personal banking crisis.
After an age, during which another person reports they have left their card in the cash machine at Asda's, the bank teller returns and just says curtly, "Can I ask you to report this to the Police."
"Whit?" "But can you no . . ?" "Whit?" all three say a couple of times before he says again, "The bank can't do anything. This is a Police matter."
And at that they gather themselves together and wander out, heads down.