Part III -Conclusion of Robber and the Crazy Lady

Epilogue

A few weeks later, the teller and I were summoned to the police station. While waiting for the line up the police detectives and our own bank investigators gathered around to ask a few more questions mentioning that they had viewed the tape.  Teller asked, “So can you ID him from the tape?” “No, the only thing we can see is you,” the detective said, pointing at me.  Oh no! It’s all on tape?  For all to see? I cover my face with my hands.

“The guys had a good time watching that tape. We should show it to you some time.  He pissed you off when he pushed you, didn’t he? We saw most of that, but you eventually moved out of camera shot. But I got a question for you.”  The detective leaned forward,  “When you were standing behind him, we could tell you were thinking about doing something. Were you?”  When I said yes, he clapped his hands together as though he won a bet or something.  “What was it?”  So I recount how Mr. S kept pestering the robber and how, if and only if (stealing a quick look at the bank’s regional manager), the robber had assaulted Mr. S, that I would be compelled to act, that I don’t think I could have helped myself. 

Being experienced detectives they could tell from my body language that I had formulated a plan.  Boy those guys are good.  “But, what were you going to do? That’s what we wanted to know.”  I told him that I was sizing him up and realized that he wasn’t that big. “Yes, we could see that.” That I felt I could easily grab both his ankles and pull them out from under him. His head would have hit the countertop with a lot of force, which should have been enough to incapacitate him, so I could sit on his back and get his arms and hands under control. If he didn’t cooperate, I would have to (don’t say, kick his ass) use more persuasive measures, like using his head like a basketball if need be, because I wasn’t going to fool around if he had an actual gun in his pocket.

Smiling the detective said, “Wished you had.  It would have been something to see. All the detectives could see it coming. We were all sort of hoping, waiting for it.  You were going to KICK HIS ASS weren’t you?  Wished you had. Yup, that would have been something to see.”

Robber and the Crazy Lady-Part II

PART II  (See below for part one)

He spun right into me and we were face-to-face, nose-to-nose, and I was looking at “The Fly.” He had his hoodie pulled down and tight obscurely his face completely and only his eyes were exposed, but those were covered by wrap around sunglasses. No wonder he was unaware that I was standing right behind him. His sunglasses were so dark, and wrapped from the one corner of the eye to the other, so I was nose to nose with those huge bug eye sunglasses. He was as shocked as I. The robber and I simultaneously said the same thing. We both gasped, “Whoa!”  (Owe me a coke.)

Then what happened next could only be described as “I lost it.”  He pushed me out of the way, and said, “Move, bitch.” 

“NO. HE. DIDN’T.  Did he just TOUCH me? Did that guy just have the audacity to TOUCH my person? Wait; did he call me a bitch? He PUSHED me and called me a bitch. Oh, hell no.” Call me bitch anytime, but just DON’T – TOUCH – ME.

I couldn’t help myself.  The monster that is always close to the surface, my lightning quick anger, came flying out as uncontrollable rage. I started to hit him. I started pounding hard on this back with both my hands all the way out the door. I kicked him and punched the back of his head and back.  I let go of so many MFs and FUs that I am embarrassed to this day for the language that came out of my mouth. “GET OUT, YOU MOTHER F! GET OUT OF MY BRANCH YOU MF, F YOU! SON OF A BITCH, F YOU, I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS. GET OUT MOTHER F, BEFORE I KILL YOU.” Well you get the picture.

Terrified, the guy starts throwing money out of his pockets, screaming, “GET OFF ME!” He expected me to stop and pick up the money. It crossed my mind for a split second, but my fury was not yet spent. Five’s and ten’s went flying into the air cascading all around us. I smack him out the door.  In desperation he reaches into his pocket and pulls more money out and now it’s blowing around in the parking lot.  My anger spent, I stop long enough to order people to “Pick That Money Up, I’ll be right back.”  I ran in the same direction as the robber. I wasn’t chasing him down, (Really, do you see the heels I’m wearing?) but wanted to see what direction he ran. I got to the corner, just in time to see him jump in a car waiting for him in the alley.

When I returned, the dutiful customers that picked up money began handing it to me.  I thanked them, went into the branch and locked the doors behind me. I can hear sirens in the distance.

I look around the lobby and it dawns on me.  There were three men in the lobby, and one of them had two young children with him. There was Mr. S. (A man who would never know how much I had his back.)  still wondering what was going on. I cringe. They were witness to my total loss of self-control. They witnessed a woman go berserk and go monkey shit on some poor guy and probably didn’t know what just happened or understand why.

Will Dad bother to explain anything of what just happened to his kids as to why the lady at the bank went crazy?  At home they’ll ask, “Mommy, what does Mother F. and F. you mean?” 

“Where did you hear that Timmy?” 

“The lady at the bank kept saying it when she was hitting that man.”

“The lady at the bank?”

“Yeah, she yelled at him to get out and if he didn’t she was going to kill him too.”  

“JIM, what happened at the bank?”

I was mortified. Only a select number of people have ever seen my Crazy, although, Queen Maker has seen more than his fair share, feel sorry for him. Many years later, I came to terms with my “episode” and hope that the stories told about that day and the crazy bank lady would include my masterful use of expletives making even a grown man blush, and how each precision strike landed with such power rendering the assailant into submission and reducing him into a man-child running from his mama’s whoop ass. (Yeah, I opened that can, industrial size.)

Tomorrow: Epilogue

Robber and the Crazy Lady

PART  I

I thought I would share this story with you.  Apparently it’s a story Queen Maker likes to tell because it almost always seems to impress the guys and shows how kick ass his wife is but in reality falls into the “You don’t want to mess with this crazy bitch” category.  After Queen Maker mentions the incident, his students look for me to recount the story.  It’s a long one, so here is Part I of a three part series.

This happened on a fine summer day at our branch.

I heard an irate voice in the lobby.  A customer was yelling at a teller, “Don’t you walk away from me. Don’t you walk away from me, bitch!”  I looked back in time to see one teller leading another teller away from her window.  That’s weird.  This guy must have been really abusive. Time to step in and take the heat.  I was always willing to take the heat from angry customers; one of my more endearing qualities. I went out to the lobby, hoping to diffuse the situation by inviting the customer into my office to discuss his problem.

The young man quickly moved to another teller window and pushed 70-year-old Mr. S out of the way. Mr. S didn’t get was going on, so he just kept looking up at the man with the hoodie and dark sunglasses and saying, “I was here first. I was here already.”  The young man ignored him and said something to the teller. 

By this time I am standing directly behind the customer, so he didn’t see me at all. Before I can say, “Sir, is there something I can do to help?”  I hear, “Hey do you want someone to get hurt?” showing the teller he had something in his pocket, supposedly something that might hurt someone.  Oh… this is not an irate customer, but an irate bank robber.

The teller looked up and her eyes asked, “What should I do?” I nodded and she began pushing money at him under the glass.  I stood very still.  I didn’t want the guy to see me, because I thought it might set him off. Not like I was trying to surround him or anything.

Mr. S, still unaware of what was going on, started to talk to the man, even pushing him a little with his arm saying, “I was here first.  You pushed me out of the way. I was here first.”

Terrified that the robber might try and shut up Mr. S. I held my breath. Please Mr. S, quit pushing the robber. My mind is racing. If the robber hits or pushes him, Mr. S is too feeble and unstable on his feet. He will hit the floor hard, break a hip, crack his head, or even worse.  If he touches a hair on that old man, I don’t know what I would do. No, he better not hurt him.  If he lays one hand on Mr. S., I’ll have to move quickly. I’ll have to KICK HIS ASS.”

I look the robber up and down.  Hmm, he’s not much taller than I am. As a matter of fact, he’s isn’t very big.  What can I do to immobilize him if he touches Mr. S? He doesn’t know I’m right behind him. I could grab both his ankles and pull them out from under him. Yeah, that’s the ticket.  That would make his head hit the countertop stunning him, then I’ll jump on his back, sit my knee on that arm keeping him from getting whatever is in his pocket out and putting the other arm behind his back with a vicious wrist lock.  If he struggles too much, then I will have to KICK HIS ASS. Luckily the robber was so intent on the money that he continued to ignore Mr. S.  I was relieved but poised just in case.

Now the ultimate goal is to get this guy out of our branch as quickly as possible. The safety of our customers and our employees is our primary concern. It is not worth anyone getting hurt over a few hundred dollars. And who would want a robber trapped in the branch with us anyways?  We prefer the police get him outside. My concern grew again because Mr. S. kept pressing the robber.  While I was focused on Mr. S, the robber spun around to leave, running into me.

Tomorrow, Part II