MicroHorror

“Excuse me,” the man said to the bank teller, a little embarrassedly. “I’ve just been through your drive-up window, and… well…”

When he paused, she prompted, “I’m sorry; was there a problem?”

“Sort of,” he said. “I made my deposit without trouble, but when I got the receipt back… well, maybe you should see for yourself.”

He laid the slip of paper down on the counter. The teller looked at it, and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t see the problem.”

“You don’t see anything… unusual there?” the man asked.

“No… see, that’s the transaction amount, and that’s your current balance,” the clerk said, pointing to the items with her pen.

“Yes, I understand that,” he said. “I mean this.”

He jabbed his finger down on the slip of paper, pointing to the line of text printed neatly on the bottom of the receipt, the line which read “YOU HAVE 3 DAYS LEFT TO LIVE.”

“Uh… that’s… odd,” the clerk said.

“You don’t say,” he replied, wryly. “Look, I know how these things work… I realize the window teller doesn’t type these up by hand. Obviously, someone’s been messing with your software. I’m not, you know, hypersensitive or sue-happy or anything like that, but I thought you should know about this before somebody sees it and takes it the wrong way.”

“Right, right,” she said. “Let me go tell my manager. You wanna hold on a second?”

“Well, I’m kind of on my way to work,” the man said.

“It’ll just take a second,” the clerk said, and disappeared into the back office. She came back less than a minute later, looking crushingly apologetic.

“I’m very sorry…” she began, but he cut her off.

“Look, I told you, I’m not upset,” he said.

“Sir, I’m very sorry,” she said again, but with added firmness. “But the manager says it’s not a mistake. You have three days to live.”

The man blinked. He blinked again. He waited for the punch line, and was disappointed.

“Excuse me?” he said, finally.

“You have… three days… to live,” the teller told him, enunciating the individual parts of the sentence distinctly.

“I’m being threatened by my bank now?” he said, chuckling. “What, is this for a TV show or something?”

“No, sir, you’re not being threatened and you’re not on TV,” she said. “You have three days to live. Now, I’m very sorry, but there is a line forming behind you, so if there’s nothing else…”

“‘If there’s nothing else?’” the man repeated. “Look, I’m sure the producer or whatever’s expecting me to throw a fit or something… they’ll probably just edit creatively to make me look like an idiot… but I’ve got to sign a waiver before they can do anything, and I am in a bit of a hurry, so…”

He gave a sort of “Can we wrap this up?” gesture.

“Sir, I’ve just told you, this isn’t for a TV show,” the clerk said. “Now, if there is nothing else…”

“What, you want me to play along a little bit longer?” the man said. He laughed. “Okay. ‘I demand to speak to your manager.’”

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you’ll just step aside, I’ll get him.”

The manager came out, looking a little harassed but oozing obsequiousness.

“Sir, I’m afraid this isn’t a joke, and it’s also not anything I can help you with. It’s simply been decided… though, I should point out that it’s three business days,” the manager said, smiling magnanimously. “So you do have the whole weekend to look forward to. That is something, isn‘t it?”

“Do I?” the man said, laughing. “Look, I appreciate a joke as much as the next man, but seriously, enough is enough. Point me to the camera, I’ll look shocked and then laugh and wave, or whatever you want. Let’s just get on with it.”

“Sir, I understand that it’s kind of grim,” the manager said. “But please, try to understand…”

“No, seriously… where is the camera?”