So it’s a paritcularly busy day in an understaffed office, with clients wandering around everywhere and a dozen deadlines to be met (hey, I took care of my end of it last week, which is why I can screw around now). Suddenly, it is remembered that taxicabs require money, and we don’t have any on hand. My amazing research skills are called upon to go to the bank and get some petty cash.
So I walk into the bank and discover that it’s one of those asshole banks where you need several forms of I.D., telephone numbers, fingerprints, and direct authorization in order to get two hundred bucks in cash. Unless…
The place is pretty empty. My teller goes off to call my office, and I’m left waiting. There is one guy in line behind me, kind of older, kind of scruffy, otherwise totally nondescript, except for one unusual thing.
He has an empty wine box at his feet.
The teller at the far end summons this guy, and there’s nobody between me and him. I wasn’t really paying attention, but when I looked at him again, he had placed the wine box on the counter so that I couldn’t see his hands. I can tell from his shoulders that he’s pulling something out of his jacket. Then thud! There’s this really loud bang, exactly as if the guy had just slammed a gun down on the counter. I look over at him, he gives me a sideways leer and continues to talk quietly to the teller. I hear the sound of counting money.
Now, I’m still waiting for my check to be authorized. The counting continues. I’m getting more and more nervous. Finally, my teller comes back and counts out my cash. Twice. Slowly. Transaction complete, ass in gear, I’m out the door. No heroes today–I’m the only guy in there who isn’t protected by an inch of Lexan.
Did I just see what I think I saw? I have a pretty broad imagination sometimes. Why would a teller count out cash to a bank robber? Do I need to contact the police? I mean, they have my full name, telephone number, picture, and fingerprint–I think they can find me if they need me. But I need to know if I’m required to report something that looked a hell of a lot to me like a crime, but not for certain. I’m in a freaking law office fer chrissakes, but all the lawyers are out.
Man, am I freaked out.