I hate it when I commit a Federal Crime.

I accidentally robbed a bank this morning.  I hate it when that happens.

I had a few checks to cash, and an infant in tow, so I went to the drive up teller.  I was only making a deposit, but I still hate to use the ATM, least they should make an error.  One has no proof with an ATM, so I prefer a human, even one at the end of a pneumatic tube.

ANYWAY, I get to the teller, and I send the checks, and she says that I don’t have a deposit ticket, so she sends the carriage back, and I stuff in a slip and then send the carriage back to her.  After a few minutes, she sends the receipt back to me.  I get the slip, and a coupon to “earn $25 to refer a friend!”, then I fiddle with my wallet and put the extra deposit slips away… and feng shui my purse… I contemplate the air speed of an African Swallow… and when the people behind me are fully ticked off, I go about my day.

I was half way to the dentist before I realized I still had the pneumatic carriage in the passenger seat.

Oh, bother.

I’ve just stolen the plastic-not-a-Thermos.  On a payday.  From a corner bank.  Oh, man-alive, they are going to send the Army after me.

I mean, stealing the pens is one thing.  They almost want you to do that.  But, taking the pneumatic tube carriage??? That’s a she-needed-killin’ crime.  I started to wonder what federal absconding prison would be like.  Will I be shackled to all the other prisoners with ball chain manicles?  Will we be forever forbidden to go to the drive ups?  Will we, gasp, have to park and WALK IN!?!?!

Sheepishly, on my way past the bank again, I went to the drive up and offered to give back my ill gotten booty.  I think they were afraid of me, and were about to push “THE” button, but one brave teller pleaded, “um, thanks for bringing it back.”

That’s when I made my getaway.

If you don’t hear from me for a while, I’ll be on the lam.   Leave some messages under the bridge for Fugitive Mom.