BANK HEIST
"Sir,
I'm afraid I can't accept this."
The teller was a young woman, perhaps twenty-three tops, but she was
confident in her answer.
"May I
inquire as to why?" The woman
clearly had something against me, and I couldn't put my finger on it, seeing as
I had greeted her with a congenial smile, complimented her on her smart nametag,
and made some pleasant remarks about the upcoming holidays. There had to be something…
"Well,
mostly it's because you're name is on it."
"Darling,
I don't mean to embarrass you. So please
don't take this the wrong way, but however else would I cash a check?! I can't
simply take a check written out for my co-worker or any other John Smith and
cash it in my own account. Why, that
would be madness! Forget law and order,
CSI, and NCIS; we would be back to our animalistic instincts, and I wouldn't
fare well in the slightest because my new pants are much too tight and prevent
me from moving anywhere with great haste.
So to prevent a chaotic and dystopian future society, I tend to obey the
laws, which is why I only cash the checks with my name on them. Don't worry, I won't tell your manager,
though." Surely my craftily formed explanation
would silence her, and I could finally get my money.
"No,
don't worry about embarrassing me. Yes,
I see the check is made out to you, so there is no problem there, however, the
check was written by you as well. See
right there?" The girl had me
caught. Fish in a barrel. Deer in headlights. Midget in the circus. White guy in a screening of The Hobbit movie. I was dead to rights. The security camera's red blinking dot seemed
to be blinking faster now and directed right at me, looking at my dar soul; the
walls of the room were moving inwards on me.
I couldn't catch my breath.
"Oh, I
didn't notice that. That is quite the
kerfuffle on my end."
"Really,
you didn't know you were writing yourself a check? Where did you think the money was going to
come from?" Blackness was beginning
to dominate the edges of my field of vision, growing ever larger to the point
where I could barely see. The jig was
up; I knew it, and she knew. I did the
one thing a man in that situation could do.
"For
Narnia and for Ghandi!" Like a bolt
of lightning, my watch-clad hand shot out and snatched the check back. I couldn't let security capture me. I dashed left past the row of tellers. That damned table! The table I wrote my check at with the pens
on the chains was occluding me from the exit, so I acted appropriately, pushing
down on the edge and kicking my legs up and over, hurdling the obstacle in one
fell swoop! The chained pen broke off
from its table captor, and I sprinted out the doors to the escape-mobile, pen
in hand. Sweet freedom!
Hank, the
new security guard jogged over to Sue, the young teller a moment later.
"What
was that all about? That guy acted like
someone set the building on fire!"
Sue didn't
look astonished in the slightest.
"Oh that's just Steve. Yeah,
he comes in like once a week and does the same thing every time. You'll get used to him."
