We parked directly in front of the bank, next to an oversized white bro truck that was very characteristic of the area. Scott, my step-dad, got out and went to take care of whatever business he had inside. I’m not one to spend any more time than necessary in banks, so I stayed in the car and stared at myself in the flip-down mirror of the visor. This is also very characteristic. We had gone to a Cirque de Soleil show a few days prior, and a plastic mask I had been given in the Tapis Rouge tent was on the floor of the passenger’s seat. White-faced with delicate features and a red target symbol dotting the tip of its nose, this full-face mask was beautiful albeit a tad creepy. I placed it on my face and began experimenting with angles in the mirror, as I had learned to do in my mask class (see previous post). The bro in his white truck was on his phone, and he abruptly pulled out of his parking space next to me.
The mask in question.
I still had my seatbelt on in the passenger seat and had the mask on my lap when Scott stepped out of the bank door. A police officer seemed to appear right before him as he headed to the vehicle, and through a slightly open window I heard him yell, nervously, “Sir, is this your car? Sir, is this your car?” Why do cops repeat themselves before giving you the chance to answer? It’s rude. Scott said yes. As it does in these instances, time moved at a leisurely pace. The officer kept an eye on Scott as I looked around to see an entire squadron of police cars behind me. Cops get bored in small towns, so if something exciting happens it’s like a field day for them. They’re all there, they’re all jumpy, they’re all young and trigger happy. I heard the phrase, “If you move, you will be shot,” and the color drained from my already pale face. Now, understand that I am incredibly afraid of guns. Point so much as a squirt gun at me and you’ll see the results. My knees buckle, I start to cry, my eyes widen and I revert back to my cowering 3-year-old self. “Get the passenger,” was the next phrase I heard, but it was almost inaudible over the sound of the two helicopters that had joined the party. A young man with a loaded M-16 rounded the corner, sight aimed straight at my head. I can only imagine the amount of fingers on triggers of other guns that were aimed in a similar direction. The door was opened. “Get out.”
There was a problem that I couldn’t manage to voice—my seatbelt was still on, and not every one of the officers with their cold, black, phallic firearms could see that. If I moved, I would be shot, right? I stuttered and said nothing. Slowly, I reached down to my waist and waited for the crack of the gun that would end me. Click! It was the seatbelt. It was off, and I emerged onto the scene. I was not dressed well and I had on a bulky long skirt that I had (ugh) rolled up to make it shorter. Obviously this bulky roll would be the perfect place to hide whatever, so my 14-year-old hips were manhandled by the officer until I was deemed safe. We were not cuffed, instead we were sat on a curb as the bank manager (who knows my step-dad well since they’re both very friendly people) emerges and enlightens the cops on their mistake. Thank goodness, too, or I fear things might have been taken even further. I was scolded for my stupidity, which I readily accepted. What kind of sane person would decide to wear a full-face mask while sitting in front of a bank?
You see, apparently someone had robbed this bank wearing a similar clown mask 6 weeks prior. The man in the truck had called in my appearance to the authorities, thinking that I was an accomplice to the man who had just happily walked into the bank with a deposit slip in his hand. He must have been a terrible judge of body language and quick to jump to conclusions to think that a little girl in the passenger’s seat of a Lexus was going to rob a bank… but that’s how it went, and my mask and I managed not only shut down two banks, but also to gather an entire village of patrol cars, helicopters and policemen.
You can laugh now—both with me and at me.
whathaleymade 