Bill Shorten goes to the bank.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he says to the cashier. “I’d like to cash this cheque.”
“Of course, sir,” she replies. “Do you have your driver’s licence?”
“Actually, no,” Shorten says. “I didn’t drive myself and, honestly, I didn’t think I’d need to show any ID. I mean, I am the alternative Prime Minister.”
“Yes, sir, I know who you are. But I’m afraid that, federal banking regulations being what they are, I’ll need to see a photo ID.”...
Shorten sighs in consternation.
“But just ask anyone at the bank,” he says. “They all know who I am. Everybody knows who I am.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Shorten, but rules are rules.”
“Please, there must be something you can do. I need to cash this check so I can buy Tony Bourke a Valentine’s Day present.”
The cashier thinks for a minute.
“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Shorten. Two weeks ago, Greg Norman was here and in the same situation. He proved who he was by making an amazing putt all the way across the bank lobby into a coffee cup.
“Then, just last week, Lleyton Hewitt had to prove who he was, so he used his tennis racket and lobbed a ball all the way across the bank lobby into that same coffee cup.
“In both cases, we took that as identification and cashed their cheques,” she explained.
“So, Mr. Shorten, is there something you can do that would prove that you are, indeed, Bill Shorten, alternative Prime Minister and leader of the Opposition?” she asked.
Shorten stands in front of her for a moment, frowning in thought.
“You know,” he says, “I can’t think of a thing. My mind is a total blank. I have absolutely no idea what to do in this situation,” he says. “Seriously. No clue at all.”
The cashier smiles.
“Will that be large or small bills, Mr. Shorten” she asks.
