Part of the Deal

The longer I sat alongside the bank clerk’s desk (technically, she is classified as a credit analyst), the more uneasy I became.

First of all, it was a little weird being inside the bank.   As part of their Covid response, the bank lobby and offices are closed to walk-in customers.  But after a conversation over the phone, the bank manager agreed to let me inside due to the complicated nature of my transaction.

The credit analyst, an attractive blondish woman in her twenties, could not have been more helpful.  Sitting appropriately apart at the credit analyst’s desk, we both wore our face masks as we worked through some papers.

And then this…this…thing started wiggling around inside my brain.

On the desk, not far from me, sat a large Dixie cup.  The cup was filled with paper binder clips.  I am not a thief.  I don’t steal stuff.  But I have this weakness for binder clips.  I use them for everything.  I had two of them clipping together some of the documents I carried in the bank with me.  One is on my kitchen counter as I write this.  Dozens upon dozens are elsewhere in my house.

And this thing is squirming around inside my brain.  An urge.  I really wanted to take a handful of the binder clips.   Just grab them.

I have had this urge to snatch a few binder clips previously.  I always manage to poke the urge back into a corner.  It is the weirdest thing.  I sometimes begin to justify my impulse to swipe them.  I paid for them with my years of business.  I am expected to take them.  They are part of the deal.  Whatever.

In the end, I finished my banking and managed to leave without grabbing any binder clips.

When I arrived back out at my car after settling my banking transactions, I noticed I had a pen from the bank in my hand.

Part of the deal, I guess.

—Mitchell Hegman