The Bank Robber- a cautionary tale

He stepped inside the second set of glass doors and took a furtive look around, hoping not to see an armed guard. A quick exhale of air signified his pleasure at not finding one. There was still the pesky cameras, but he felt his disguise was sufficient to render him unrecognizable to anyone that might know him, or try to identify him later. To his dismay, the bank was busy and there was a line of people waiting to get to the counter. He wasn’t ready to step up to the line, so he hurried over to a small ledge attached to the wall next to the door where a pen was attached with a chain and several small forms were stacked in their respective compartments, ready to be filled out by bank customers. He grabbed one of the forms, turned it over and wrote his robbery note on it. He waited, hoping that the crowd would thin and he would be able to do his dirty business without having to worry about some citizen trying to be a hero. But, his luck wasn’t holding and the people continued to wander in the door.

He folded his note, held it in his left hand, turned and stepped into line behind a young woman with a little girl in tow. The little girl kept staring at him, making him nervous. Two old women walked in the door and stood behind him as he stared back at the little girl hoping that would make her turn around and stop looking at him. Standing on one foot, she swayed back and forth hanging on to her mom’s arm and sticking the fingers of her other hand in her mouth. His ploy of staring back wasn’t working, in fact, it seemed to make it worse.

The two older women behind him were talking about the up coming bingo game at the living center and wondering if Gladys would try cheating again. Then, almost in mid sentence, they switched to hair coloring , pros and cons, and then off to the best laxative on the market. He was trying to think of a way to move the line faster so that he didn’t have to listen to the talk about hair color and laxatives and be stared at by, what he thought was, a disturbed little girl.

Unfortunately, the line didn’t move and he was getting nervous. His fake beard was starting to scratch his skin and the sweat began to pour down his face from under his hat and wig. He had worn a down filled vest under his coat to make him seem heavier, aiding in the disguise, and the combination of vest, wig , hat and beard were causing him to become extremely hot and uncomfortable. He looked up ahead to see what was holding up the line. There were only two cashiers and one was helping an old man try to count the change he had brought in to deposit. They had to start over twice due to his forgetting where he was in the count. The second cashier was helping a young woman making a merchant deposit. She had checks, cash, coins and receipts scattered over the entire counter. It looked like he was in for a long wait.

The two women behind him began to argue about who had the most aches and pains. He wanted to turn around and tell them to shut up, but he didn’t want to bring any unwanted attention to himself so he just took a breath and tried to relax, which was becoming increasingly more difficult with each inane remark from the two old women.

Two men, dressed as if they might be construction workers stepped into line behind the old women. He was thinking perhaps his idea of robbing the bank wasn’t such a good one, when the line actually moved. The old man finally got his money counted and was hobbling out the door and the young woman and the little girl had moved to the counter, making him next in line.

His heart beat began to accelerate. He was next and it looked like the woman making a deposit was about to finish. She thanked the teller, stuffed her cash bag into her large purse and stepped toward the door. The teller looked at him and smiled. Well, here goes nothing, he thought.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" the teller asked, still smiling.

He said nothing, sliding his note across the counter toward her, his hand shaking as he pushed the note.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, taking the note in hand. She read it to herself. " I’m afraid I don’t understand," she added as she examined the note.

He pointed to the note and looked sternly into her eyes trying to will her to give him the money in her drawer.

"It says ‘give me all your money and act normal’. I don’t know what you mean by acting normal," she explained.

He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Could she actually be that dense? He pointed to the note one more time hoping it would sink in that he was trying to rob the bank. She looked at him with a blank stare.

"Did you want to make a withdrawal?" she asked.

He nodded, not wanting to talk, making identification even more difficult.

"Ok, what is your account number?"

He stared at her, not believing what he had heard. Again, he pointed to the note, this time with a thud as his finger forcefully struck the note.

"I have to have an account number in order to help you make a withdrawal," she explained trying to be helpful. "If you’ll give it to me, I can check your account." She waited for him to speak.

He decided to try to disguise his voice and get her to understand he was robbing the bank. "Put all your money in a bag and act normal," he said in a hushed, husky voice.

"I’m not sure what you mean by normal. This is normal. Wouldn’t you consider this normal?"

"Just put the money in a bag!" he said, becoming more agitated.

"Then I guess you consider this normal. Do you have an account here?" she asked again.

"No! Just do as I ask and no one will get hurt!" he exclaimed.

"Well, I would hope not," she added. "But, if I don’t have an account number, I won’t know which account to debit, now, will I?"

"Don’t you get it, just put the money in a bag ," he said, trying to be as quiet as possible and still be heard.

"I’m sorry, sir, but if you don’t have an account here, I can’t help you," she explained, looking past him. "Next"

"No!" he yelled, turning around and looking at the two old ladies. "Stay back. I’m not finished yet!"

"Well," one of the two huffed, "how rude."

He turned to the teller and pointed at the note. "Just put the money in a bag and continue as you normally would." He had given up on trying to disguise his voice.

"No, I’m sorry sir, but I can’t do that," she said, adamantly.

He stood and stared at her. He decided to play his ace. "I have a gun."

She looked at him, looked down at his side, then back into his eyes. "Next, she said, looking past him at the old ladies."

"Look, Mommy, the man is leaking," the little girl standing next to him at the counter said, pointing .

He was sweating profusely, it dripping off his nose and beard. The young girls mother shushed her and pulled her back next to her side.

"See, Mommy, look," the young girl insisted, pointing up at him.

One of the old ladies stood next to him. "We’re next," she said looking up at him with a furrowed brow.

"Just back off!" he shouted at the old lady. "I’m not finished yet."

One of the old ladies spoke. "She said you were." Indicating the teller with her gloved hand, a purse hanging from it.

"No sense being rude," the other old lady chimed in.

"Hey, what’s going on?" One of the construction workers asked.

He stepped aside. The first old lady stepped up to the counter in front of him. He stepped back another step.

"How can I help you ladies?" the teller asked.

He backed up a few steps, trying to get his head straight. Somewhere, the whole transaction had unraveled and he was no longer in control, if he ever was. He crumpled up the note, threw it down and almost ran out of the bank.

One of the old ladies watched him leave the bank. "What is his problem?"

"He wanted to rob the bank." the teller answered, smiling.

THE END