They commanded all seven of us tellers to put up our hands-so we wouldn’t push any silent alarm or panic buttons, no doubt. Somebody was attacking the bank I so deeply hated! The institution behind the ruination of my family. I was startled, and frightened for my teller pals and the handful of customers in there-I didn’t want anybody to be hurt-but this tiny little buried part of me felt a kind of dark glee. There were only three of them, but it seemed like they were everywhere. In addition to the masks, they wore business suits and leather gloves, and they moved with military precision. The robbers perpetrating all this violence wore zombie masks-mottled skin, sunken eyes, the whole zombie nine yards. One moment the bank was quiet, even sort of sleepy the next moment, it was an explosion of mayhem with people yelling, screaming, and crying guns flashed, things got smashed and tipped over. I was looking busy behind the teller window at First City National Bank one Sunday, a delicate operation that involved doodling a frame of stars around the very edge of a piece of scratch paper, when three bank robbers burst in.Īnd I really do mean burst.
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