Scene 1: Laughing Gas

I was once a teller at a bank… I was a very incompetent teller – Fumbling around with the change in my cash drawer, very rarely did I not miscount a dollar or two every time I’d give some back to one of the old bags who came in. If I ever use going to the bank as my social hour… Please kill me. I beg of you it was sad. Seeing once-proud men with their walkers just crawl into a shitty over-decorated bank kitschy painting of an imaginary beach on the wall. We had two chairs to seat people near the painting… two chairs… no one ever sat in them. Every time I fucked up my boss would whine to me about auditors checking in on us at the bank… no auditors ever came in-no one ever came in. It was like limbo waiting for the clock to trim time down to cleanse me with the 9 to 5 fire… Old men with no hair… old greek men who couldn’t hear and would complain when you asked questions to them. Doing your job was a crime to these people not doing it was a worse crime – That’s why I did it poorly I was criminal either way. My father was stern in a few ways not cruel or anything of the sort but a stern stoical type of man… one thing he was stern on is justice… I’d like to think I inherited that capacity… which is why I always came in five minutes late to work… whistling my way in calmly… a sparse but sincere rebellion… my manager always told me to come in earlier so I could set up my cash drawer properly… but that would be succumbing to that tyrant… the unquenchable dictator of business-work-time… I wanted to strike a blow at him any way I could and making sure some dentist who refused to look me in the eyes while I cashed his checks was five minutes late back to his office was my way of doing it… “Philosophy is such bullshit just people wasting time.” said my crew-cut wearing coworker with his thick city accent… “Why do they even make me take-” he cut off seeing the dentist walk in “Oh not this dickhead – what an awful haircut” he muttered to himself and probably me… like a tiger pouncing on the weaker member of the herd, the dentist started walking towards my spot in the teller line… the little butchery of the neurasthenic… he was still wearing the whole dentist get-up… in the middle of the mall? Perhaps he realized his sick little scheme of torturing a bank teller would require surgical outfit scrubs and all… he threw the envelope down with the checks in it… of course, he didn’t say hi… with that was even greater of course… my hands began to shake with anticipation… he left out the most important part of the business check envelope… the total amount of the checks… a beautiful white emptiness for a dullard such as myself… of course, I added the check amounts wrong on the calculator did my little mini Eichmann operation in the bureaucratic entering of the monetary value into the account… and it came out wrong… fucking beautiful… I feigned a quizzical look while my dentist friend sharpened his brow… I let out a sorry sir and grabbed my manager… he lisped out a sigh and walked over… trying to correct my mistake he too failed in typing something while the dentist whistled in obvious anticipation of some kind of complaint form… eventually, it took three people to solve the issue… my manager doing computer work… my co-worker counting the checks as I sat in my chair proud as can be while the dentist seemed to stare me down… finally, the issue passed and the dentist left with his receipt in hand stomping away each mundane tearful second he had to wait while we fumbled with the keyboard… the solidarity of idiots I suppose… he’s probably off to use the laughing gas while he fucks his secretary over the desk… while his wife at home hatefully knits waiting for the day she can divorce him also taking his bountiful home and stupid languishing unused boat… I imagine they have a kid who’s good at football…     

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