"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."