Bank Robber

Like every other dream, I’ve forgotten the details of the beginning so I’ll start at the end and maybe move backwards, if I can.

I went into the bank at night. It was late, they were closing. (It was too late for a bank to be open. I had hoped no one would be there.) The bank was a local one, one I went to all the time, one where I knew the people there somewhat. As I walked in, I saw myself in the TV they had showing people that they were being recorded. I walked up to the teller who asked, “What are you doing here this late?”

“Robbing the place.”

“Excuse me?” She looked confused, and somewhat amused. She was a short girl, fat, but not unattractive. Spanish with dark hair. Not my type. I handed her a stack of various stapled packets. The cover letter of each described that I was sory, but I had to rob the place, and they were to give me not all their money, but just a few thousand.

The manager, Jamal, who I knew well, stepped into the back room. I was being as civilized as I could about this, and he walked stunned and humored. I had no gun, no weapon of any kind. I was just there, hoping they would give me the money. Behind the teller counter was a large block of money in boxes. The girl there–another one, this one blonde, a bit thinner, and much more attractive–began ripping the boxes open in order to get the cash. She started pulling out $20’s and $100’s, asking me how much I wanted. That’s when I started thinking about going to jail. After all, these people knew me, I came here all the time. One even had my phone number. If was to rob a bank, the least I could do was to go somewhere I wasn’t known in, somewhere not close to my house.

I repented, and told them not to worry about it. Going to jail over a few thousand dollars wasn’t worth it. And being this stupid was without excuse.

“Then why did you do it?” Jamal asked.

“I don’t know… I have a bunch of debt that I need to take care of, credit card debt, and I thought this would be a quick way to do it.” I apologized profusely, walking behind the counter and telling each of the girls that I was sorry for what I had done. I never wanted to hurt anyone, just to take care of my family.

I got all my stuff together, everything I could, then walked out. It was near morning by now. In the parking lot, I turned around then went back into the bank. “Where are my packets?” I didn’t want to leave any evidence, witnesses and video cameras not withstanding.

At first they were hesitant to give them to me, but Jamal walked to the back office and got the packet. They had placed it in a clear plastic bag that held cash before, the number written on the front reading, “$300M”. As I saw the number, I thought about how that money could cure the debt. But the price wasn’t worth it. I grabbed the plastic bag and left, hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with police.