The Bank Job

I am reminded of the concept of bringing a knife to a gunfight.

007 Folding Knife

Some years ago, a fellow told me of his misadventures. He had been a street creep and low-level criminal several years earlier. One day, under the influence of alcohol and who-knows-what-else, the man had the brilliant idea of robbing a bank. He was armed with a “OO7" knife, a cheap street knife with large wooden handle slabs. Satisfied that he was equipped for this adventure, he went to the bank.

Rather than go to a teller, the man went to the back to one of the women behind desks. He showed his knife.

“Bring me a bag full of money, and none of those exploding dye packs. I’ll be sitting right here waiting for you.”

The woman nodded and left her desk. While she was supposedly getting the money, the man fell asleep in a drunken stupor.

The next thing he knew, there were cops all over.

The police booked  him and took him to the House of Detention (I forget if it was Brooklyn, Queens or the Manhattan “Tombs”.) Word of his failed bank job preceded him. As he was led through the facility, a corrections officer pointed at him and shouted, “There’s our financial wizard!”

A few years in a prison in upstate New York cured him of criminal ambitions. It also freed him of his penchant for booze.