Post by Alexandra Bishop on Apr 22, 2016 22:52:13 GMT
So, this is a bit rushed because I got the idea for the story like...2 hours ago? This is a prompt that I would like to explore again at some point, so please give me some good criticism on how I can improve it and flush out the characters a bit more. THANK YOU MUCHLY.
I stand in line, clutching some sweaty bills in my grimy hands and glaring at the perfectly full head of hair in front of me. This guy has been on his phone for a good ten minutes now, gesturing wildly and scowling at his image in the monitor. You know, the one that hangs over the teller's booth and lets the bank customers know that they're being watched? I glared at the monitor, too, hoping that the guy would catch my eye and know that he was being a complete and total dick, but the minute I worked up the nerve to do so he looked down and quickly checked his watch. He directed his sharp eyes to the little old lady at the single teller, making some egg accounts for her grandchildren's college funds, and began tapping his foot impatiently. See, he was wearing a suit, therefore he was important and how DARE other people impede him.
I wanted to spit on him.
It wasn't just because he was being an asshole, either. If the two of us walked into a convenience store, I'd be the one that the cashier would follow around. With my flannel and cropped hair, I looked like a regular fucking townie. But I paid my dues, my bills, my taxes, unlike the fucker in front of me who probably had some bank account in a tax-free zone. Maybe this guy's name appeared in the Panama Papers. I looked down at my shoes and stepped on the piece of sole that was slowly coming unglued from the bottom of them as I wondered just what this guy was here for.
It was weird to see rich people at the bank. I always suspected that they had people to do that sort of thing for them. Sometimes I even imagined that they had a whole treasure room a la Scrooge McDuck, just a massive Olympic sized swimming pool of dough that they popped into whenever they needed to buy a new yacht. The door behind the counters opened and another woman appeared. The businessman took half a step forward, prepared to go to her window, when she unexpectedly turned and started helping someone at the drivethru window. He groaned, audibly, and I couldn't help but smirk.
Just who did he think he was, anyway? What was he doing that was so important that everyone needed to drop what they were doing and help this guy? It made me wonder what I would do if I were rich, and I ran my hands through my short hair as I thought about it. I'd probably pay off my girlfriend's student loans, then maybe buy a new truck. After that...maybe put some money away for Kitty-Cat's college? If the girl wanted to go to college. I mean, she was only two and college was still a long ways away. Besides, I never went to college and I was doing alright. I counted the bills again. $800 from a job I'd just done installing windows in an old Victorian. Now there was a rich person house, but it was the kind that you inherited. It was old and worn and well lived in. This guy in front of me probably had one of those chic bachelor pads that were completely and totally barren and devoid of furniture because that's what was "in" nowadays.
The teller freed up and the businessman stalked forward angrily, setting his phone down on the counter and speaking in a quick, concise tone. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The world would be better off if pricks like this were hit by a car. The woman at the drivehthru finished up as well and turned towards the window, beckoning me over with a smile.
"What can I help you with today?" she asked.
"Deposit," I said, and I shoved the bills underneath the window.
Her nimble fingers counted the money out quickly as the guy behind me raised his voice. Something wasn't right, something was off with his account, blah, blah blah. He started talking like he was on Wall Street about interest rates and other things I didn't understand.
"Do you have your card with you?"
"Oh, yeah," I mumbled and fished around my cargo pants for my wallet. I pulled it out. It was covered in dirt and practically falling apart, but it worked. I pulled my card out and flicked it quickly through the machine then punched in my PIN. The machine beeped, and the woman behind the teller began counting the bills out.
"$600 into checkings?"
"Yeah...wait...actually, could you give me back $25?"
The woman nodded and made change, then handed me back the amount of money I needed.
"So, $575 into checking?"
"Yes ma'am," I said.
She printed out my little slip of paper and pushed it back to me, wishing me a nice day. I pocketed my wallet and glared at the businessman one more time as I passed him on the way out. I noticed that he hadn't hung up with whoever was on the phone.
I stepped blinking out of the bank and made my way towards the beat up pick-up truck in the back of the parkinglot, but I paused. My girlfriend had taken Kitty-Cat out of the truck to play on the small strip of grass that seperated the road from the sidewalk. She stomped around, marvelling at the way her brand new sketchers lit up when she took a step. She hobbled a few steps away from my girlfriend, who then called her back. Kitty-Cat looked up and grinned before stomping her way back and throwing herself into her mother's arms, and I couldn't help but laugh as I walked over.
"Hey there, girlie," I said, and Kitty-Cat was up in and instant and stomping over to me. I hefted her easily onto my shoulder as my girlfriend unfolded herself from the grass. She wasn't pretty by any means. She had a long forehead and a short face. Her black hair hung limply around her shoulders, and her eyes had deep bags under them. She was a damned fine woman, though. The best partner I could have asked for. "What do you say we get some ice cream, huh?" I waved the bills I hadn't deposited, and the glee in Kitty-Cat's face was worth it.
"Ith cream!" She laughed and clapped her hands. She was still having trouble with that "s" sound.
The businessman stormed out of the bank a moment later, pausing in the doorway like I had as he got his bearings. He peered around quickly before his eyes landed on us. He paused longer than was polite, watching the three of us as we disappeared into the crowded streets on our way to the ice cream store, a very distant look on his face.
I stand in line, clutching some sweaty bills in my grimy hands and glaring at the perfectly full head of hair in front of me. This guy has been on his phone for a good ten minutes now, gesturing wildly and scowling at his image in the monitor. You know, the one that hangs over the teller's booth and lets the bank customers know that they're being watched? I glared at the monitor, too, hoping that the guy would catch my eye and know that he was being a complete and total dick, but the minute I worked up the nerve to do so he looked down and quickly checked his watch. He directed his sharp eyes to the little old lady at the single teller, making some egg accounts for her grandchildren's college funds, and began tapping his foot impatiently. See, he was wearing a suit, therefore he was important and how DARE other people impede him.
I wanted to spit on him.
It wasn't just because he was being an asshole, either. If the two of us walked into a convenience store, I'd be the one that the cashier would follow around. With my flannel and cropped hair, I looked like a regular fucking townie. But I paid my dues, my bills, my taxes, unlike the fucker in front of me who probably had some bank account in a tax-free zone. Maybe this guy's name appeared in the Panama Papers. I looked down at my shoes and stepped on the piece of sole that was slowly coming unglued from the bottom of them as I wondered just what this guy was here for.
It was weird to see rich people at the bank. I always suspected that they had people to do that sort of thing for them. Sometimes I even imagined that they had a whole treasure room a la Scrooge McDuck, just a massive Olympic sized swimming pool of dough that they popped into whenever they needed to buy a new yacht. The door behind the counters opened and another woman appeared. The businessman took half a step forward, prepared to go to her window, when she unexpectedly turned and started helping someone at the drivethru window. He groaned, audibly, and I couldn't help but smirk.
Just who did he think he was, anyway? What was he doing that was so important that everyone needed to drop what they were doing and help this guy? It made me wonder what I would do if I were rich, and I ran my hands through my short hair as I thought about it. I'd probably pay off my girlfriend's student loans, then maybe buy a new truck. After that...maybe put some money away for Kitty-Cat's college? If the girl wanted to go to college. I mean, she was only two and college was still a long ways away. Besides, I never went to college and I was doing alright. I counted the bills again. $800 from a job I'd just done installing windows in an old Victorian. Now there was a rich person house, but it was the kind that you inherited. It was old and worn and well lived in. This guy in front of me probably had one of those chic bachelor pads that were completely and totally barren and devoid of furniture because that's what was "in" nowadays.
The teller freed up and the businessman stalked forward angrily, setting his phone down on the counter and speaking in a quick, concise tone. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The world would be better off if pricks like this were hit by a car. The woman at the drivehthru finished up as well and turned towards the window, beckoning me over with a smile.
"What can I help you with today?" she asked.
"Deposit," I said, and I shoved the bills underneath the window.
Her nimble fingers counted the money out quickly as the guy behind me raised his voice. Something wasn't right, something was off with his account, blah, blah blah. He started talking like he was on Wall Street about interest rates and other things I didn't understand.
"Do you have your card with you?"
"Oh, yeah," I mumbled and fished around my cargo pants for my wallet. I pulled it out. It was covered in dirt and practically falling apart, but it worked. I pulled my card out and flicked it quickly through the machine then punched in my PIN. The machine beeped, and the woman behind the teller began counting the bills out.
"$600 into checkings?"
"Yeah...wait...actually, could you give me back $25?"
The woman nodded and made change, then handed me back the amount of money I needed.
"So, $575 into checking?"
"Yes ma'am," I said.
She printed out my little slip of paper and pushed it back to me, wishing me a nice day. I pocketed my wallet and glared at the businessman one more time as I passed him on the way out. I noticed that he hadn't hung up with whoever was on the phone.
I stepped blinking out of the bank and made my way towards the beat up pick-up truck in the back of the parkinglot, but I paused. My girlfriend had taken Kitty-Cat out of the truck to play on the small strip of grass that seperated the road from the sidewalk. She stomped around, marvelling at the way her brand new sketchers lit up when she took a step. She hobbled a few steps away from my girlfriend, who then called her back. Kitty-Cat looked up and grinned before stomping her way back and throwing herself into her mother's arms, and I couldn't help but laugh as I walked over.
"Hey there, girlie," I said, and Kitty-Cat was up in and instant and stomping over to me. I hefted her easily onto my shoulder as my girlfriend unfolded herself from the grass. She wasn't pretty by any means. She had a long forehead and a short face. Her black hair hung limply around her shoulders, and her eyes had deep bags under them. She was a damned fine woman, though. The best partner I could have asked for. "What do you say we get some ice cream, huh?" I waved the bills I hadn't deposited, and the glee in Kitty-Cat's face was worth it.
"Ith cream!" She laughed and clapped her hands. She was still having trouble with that "s" sound.
The businessman stormed out of the bank a moment later, pausing in the doorway like I had as he got his bearings. He peered around quickly before his eyes landed on us. He paused longer than was polite, watching the three of us as we disappeared into the crowded streets on our way to the ice cream store, a very distant look on his face.
