Free Getting Old Is a Disaster by Rita Lakin

as she twists her legs around in a way that I never thought possible outside of the circus.
      "Okay," she says. "It was an ordinary day, maybe a little quiet. This old guy comes to my window."
      Fashionista Sophie interrupts immediately. "Do you remember what he was wearing?"
      "Honey, I remember every little thing about him."
      I tap Sophie, indicating that she shouldn't interrupt.
      Sarah twists into another improbable position, resembling something like a figure eight. "He was about five foot four, thin, wearing gray pants and shirt and a Miami Dolphins baseball cap. He had on huge sunglasses with white rims, making it very difficult to see his face. He had kind of a Groucho Marx bushy mustache. Looked like a paste-on to me. And a big Spider-Man Band-Aid on his cheek. I only realized later that all that stuff was to keep me from really seeing anything of his looks other than the tufts of his gray hair sticking out."
      Bella pulls her chair even closer so as not to miss a word of this amazing story.
      Sarah continues, "He carried a small tote with the SunTrust Bank logo on it. He opened it up and pulled out a bag from Mickey's Deli, the one that's right across the street from where I work."
      We are listening with open mouths. Her attention to detail is fascinating.
      "He took out a rye bread sandwich and unwrapped it."
      Now Sophie can't stand it. "He was going to eat his lunch?"
      Sarah shakes her head. "He then tells me he got turkey but told them to hold the mayo so it wasn't too messy."
      Bella is gaga over what she hears. "What wasn't too messy?"
      "His gun, wrapped up in the sandwich," Sarah says. "He insisted it was a real gun, but frankly, I wasn't sure."
      "You gotta be joking," Ida says. "He's holding up a bank with a gun wrapped in a turkey sandwich?"

  "I kid you not," Sarah says, giggling. "Here I am being robbed by an old guy dressed like a clown, carrying a gun in rye bread. I didn't know what to think. I was so weirded out, I didn't know whether this was a joke or serious."
      We're all giggling now.
      Ida pours herself more lemonade. "Then what?"
      "Then he says, 'Give me five hundred and fifty dollars and forty-six cents or I shoot.' My hands were shaking; I could barely count out the money. He tossed it into the sandwich bag, thanked me, and tipped his baseball cap."
      We are speechless. Finally Evvie says, "That's it?"
      "Oh, I almost forgot. He dug out a small green feather and said, 'Robin Hood's my name, robbing banks is my game.' "
      Sarah does another complicated yoga move then gracefully stands up and stretches.
      Bella and Sophie applaud.
      I've heard some strange stories in my lifetime but this takes the cake. "Did you tell all of it to the police?"
      "I did indeed, but I don't think they believed me, what with all my nervous laughing."
      I have to ask. "Why did you give him the money?"
      She thinks for a moment. "That's a good question. Maybe it's because I thought he was adorable. Maybe because he reminded me of my grandpa. And because maybe he was loony enough to be carrying a real gun. I tell you, ladies, I was a nervous wreck."
      She performs another long stretch. "And when I finally remembered to hit the panic button, he was already racing out of the bank."

11

    Another Teller Tells

    Another Story

    P allie Finchum is a very different experience
        from Sarah Byrne. No laughing here. This one's a straitlaced bank teller who reminds me of an old-fashioned schoolmarm. Maybe it's the tight brown bun perched on the top of her head or her starched black suit. She's in her fifties, thin-lipped, and very unfriendly. She, too, had been mentioned in an article after one of Grandpa's robberies. We called her. She refused to speak to us, so today Evvie and I track her down at lunchtime. The others stay home because I tell them five of us stalking her would be ridiculous.
      We wait for Finchum to leave the bank.