Saturday, September 1, 2012

didn't look good

I wondered for a moment if I would be calling my husband from 'downtown.' You know, that one call you're allowed to make. "Hi hon, I'm at the Police Station...."
I had handed the teller a stack of bills recently spewn out of a bank machine. I had thumbed through them counting at a glance. Looked good to me. She had taken them and trotted over to the bill counter. They had looked good to her too.
But, they hadn't looked good to the eye of the machine. It saw, not what we thought we saw, but what was really there. And, what was really there included a counterfeit bill.
It didn't look good.
A small crowd gathered behind the counter. It was apparently a very crude imitation. "It looks like it was cut out with scissors," crowed a young blond teller.
I signed a slip of paper, finished my transaction, scuttled out, and got into my car. 'Got into my car,' as opposed to 'get away car.'

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