Harold at the Bank

      Harold entered the bank as he had every Thursday for the past seven years.  Prior to that, his father was the unlucky recipient of his mother’s commanded bank trip.  After Harold’s first trip, he realized that his father’s weekly trips took at least two hours more than it took him.  He suspected his father hid out somewhere for those two hours every week, but he never could determine where.

        He entered through the doors facing south, as he did every week.  Harold was a creature of habit.  He liked, no he craved, familiarity.  He left his home at the same time every week, parked in the same parking space (parking space C7), entered the building through the same south-facing doors, and stood in line for the same teller.  His favorite teller, Rita, had worked at the bank for as long as he could remember, and he stood in line for Rita every week.  This week something was amiss.  Rita, who had had been behind the counter every Thursday for the past seven years, was gone.  In her place was a young girl sporting bright red hair.  Not naturally occurring bright orange hair, but her hair was a shade of red the Good Lord never intended for human heads.  Harold was confused.  It didn't take much to confuse Harold, something as simple as a red-headed bank teller would suffice. As his brain was trying to wrap itself around the absence of his beloved teller, Rita, he heard a loud noise, a voice shouting from the north-facing doors.  From somewhere behind him, a woman screamed.

The End

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