So every once in a while I go on blog reading binges, where for a few days I do nothing but tirelessly comb through the blogs I've subscribed to looking for inspirational nuggets upon which to gorge myself and call it good. This isn't necessarily a good thing, because I don't subscribe to that many blogs and the ones I have subscribed to don't really update that much (you KNOW who you are). None the less, I have just read a post from one of my favorite blogs and it has, in a way, inspired me to shoot the shit here on the blogisphere.
To start, my favorite blogs (as exampled above) incorporate illustrations, the like of which are brilliant and hilarious. I wish with every part of my being that I could make an illustrated blog.
You know what? What's stopping me today?! Nothing. Therefore, for the remainder of the blog, I'm going to stop periodically and sketch out some of the crap. Why not? We have a scanner here at the bank! Let's go!
Ahem. I shall now attempt to recount one of the craziest, most traumatic scenarios I've ever been in: getting robbed. But I shall do it light heartedly, because as FUBAR as it was, it really wasn't all THAT bad.
LET US BEGIN.
Monday. July 25th. Mondays are typically pretty busy. Lots of deposits. I always find this humorous because typically Fridays are full of lots of withdrawals. So essentially people take a bunch of money out on Friday and then put a bunch of money in 3 days later. I've never understood.
|Probably because I don't know what it's like to put money into a bank. I just use it all up til the magical paycheck rolls in and replenishes my account.|
Anyway, that customer came in, but he came in pretty quickly and without much acknowledgement to anyone. He grabbed a few deposit slips, said "This is all I need," and hastily made his exit. I only really know this because everyone else behind the counter with me pointed out its unusualness, especially one of our tellers who worriedly informed us that her husband told her he just had a dream our bank was going to get robbed.
I laughed it off, assuring her and everyone else the odds were ridiculous and that no one was going to rob this bank. The construction around here has created a variable labyrinth of round-a-bouts, detours, and orange cones that would make even the savviest stunt driver dizzy. Who would be dumb enough to rob this bank?
Minutes later (or longer, I can't really recall exactly) I would eat my own words as I came face to face with ...
My thoughts were a bit numerous. Mostly they were "Oh. We're getting robbed." Then it turned to "Look at the size of that fake beard. That thing is ridiculous. Who is this guy, Father Time?" Then it was "That gun is so not real. At least no one's going to get really hurt." But mostly it was the first one. "Oh. We're getting robbed." Fortunately, though, my expectations for getting robbed far exceeded what faced me at the moment.
|Why Russians? Why not?|
I assured myself the gun wasn't real and put my hands up like a good little hostage. I wondered if it would be possible to remain calm, despite the situation. After looking around at my poor co-workers faces -- faces painted with pure, unadulterated terror -- I knew the challenge had arisen to remain calm as a Hindu cow.
|No, I didn't draw this one, but I couldn't resist putting at least one Meme in here.|
But the tremors of the traumatic event remain felt, and the emotional wounds left on some of those involved may never really go away. Myself included, to an extent. Every American has felt to one degree or another our nation's economic plight, and perhaps those in the deepest pits of disparity go to extreme degrees to doctor their putrefying sores of debt. Maybe this guy has a family to feed. Maybe this guy has a mother in the hospital. Maybe this guy runs a freaking orphanage and the children will get evicted if he doesn't come up with the cash, pronto.
|Timy with only one "m", stop being so selfish.|
Or maybe he's just a desperate lunatic supporting his drug habits who goes home to a shitty apartment, greeted by his mangy, flea infested mutt Reginald, barely coherent enough to take a shit in the morning and take a shower without forgetting to wash his hair.
I have no idea. Who am I to judge anyway. All I know is; it was a reckless, desperate act of stupidity and I won't let this guy ruin my day.
Well, I hope you enjoyed my first "illustrated blog". I doubt there will be any more in the future, but you never know.