Hey team so today was just an average day for me. I was walking down the street asking the homeless for change and seeing how many people I could creep out by pretending I was a pigeon. As I was flying along and looking for good targets to poop on I ran into someone else who was also flying along and pretending to be a pigeon. "What a coincidence," I said to him as we landed precariously on the edge of some historic landmark covered in bird shit, "I very rarely see anyone else playing floor is lava out here."
He was young-looking, with a light green short sleeved tunic that really seemed a bit short for someone who was flying around constantly, if you get my drift. He nodded nonchalantly, acknowledging my comment but not replying in any significant way. Since I wanted to make sure that he was also playing floor is lava, I very suavely and subtly added "you know I really like floor is lava but most people think it is a game for young people and that they are too mature to play it you're not an old crotchety person are you?"
"I will never grow up!" He yelled and then flew in a somersault, landing gracefully and beaming widely at me. It suddenly dawned on me what was going on here. "Holy shit," I said, "you're Robin Hood aren't you?"
He nodded again, with another sly smile that let me know that he had clearly very recently stolen from King Georgeshire the Lionhearted the Third and was looking for probably the lowest 10% of the general earning bracket so he could practice his socialist outlaw tendencies by performing a simple and straightforward reevaluation and forceful redistribution of wealth in a society dominated by capitalists who abuse the blue collar workers in order to gain a substantial wealth. I can get a lot out of body language.
He then asked me if I was poor. I replied simply by saying "well gosh I don't know I mean I assume we have massively different definitions of poor for example I live in a modern society that uses a complicated asset evaluation system and so while I may not have a lot of spending money I do have a few somewhat valuable assets at my disposal as well as a flourishing stock portfolio but I also only have $34.45 in my checking account and a toothpick, a crayon, and a carton of milk in my wallet and in your case you died like hundreds of years ago"
So he did what any self-respecting outlaw would do and he took a few hours with me to go over my stock portfolio as well as my pension funds and helped me balance my checkbook before coming to the conclusion that yes, I was poor. So he slipped me a bag full of shiny gold coins with pictures of the great King Charlemagne pressed into them. I told him he really needed to check this story for historical accuracy but I was appreciative nonetheless.
So I walked to the nearby bank to see how much money I could get for authentic gold coins from Charlemagne's era but also apparently Robin Hood's man shit that would be worth such a fortune I thought. So I make my way into the bank and the teller is a nice looking young lady in her early twenties and I hand her the bag and ask how much I could get for it. She looks at the coins inside and says "ummmmmmmmmmmm"
And stares off into space. And by stare, I mean actually stare - she didn't blink, or move her eyes, or apparently even breathe for several minutes. Becoming concerned, I tried to say something, but she cut me off with a more emphatic "uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
So I patiently waited for her to finish thinking, or whatever she was doing. She hadn't made a single noise in a little over an hour now and I was seriously afraid that she was dead. However, a simple check could be made; every time that I tried to say something she would declare that she was thinking at a much higher volume, either with "ummmmmmmmmm" or "uhhhhhhhhhhhhh". So at least she was still alive. I slumped down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and tried to catch the eyes of the other tellers, who didn't really seem to think that anything was wrong.
When I woke up, it was dark out and the security guard was shaking me awake. "Excuse me sir, we have to close the bank now. You're going to have to leave" so I left that poor teller just standing there until the next morning. I returned the next day, and the next, and the next day just waiting for a response from the nearly catatonic teller. For 8 long, grueling years I went back and waited for her to come up with something. Nobody else in the bank would even acknowledge me; I was already being helped.
Finally, late one Christmas eve, she finally started writing something. I peered over the counter at what she was doing. She had a one dollar bill on the table and was meticulously copying the picture of King Charlemagne over good old Geord Washington. Then, when she finished with that, she carefully transcribed "480,273,372,172 dollars" over where it said "one dollar" and stuffed it into her register. She then gave me a my deposit slip which showed that my account now contained $480,273,372,206.45 and said "Thank you, have a nice day!"
I lost it all playing slots. But it was the most fun 2 hours of my life.
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