Looking back, I don’t know what I was thinking. There really isn’t a dishonest bone in my body, or so I thought before the day I decided to rob my bank.

It was a Saturday afternoon, around noon. I wanted to deposit a birthday check I had received from my parents, and try — once again — to discuss what I had to do to stop them from hitting me with all those bank fees every month. When you live in New York City, every penny counts. After rent, utilities, and MetroCards, I was using whatever leftover pennies to eat.

Speaking of eating, I overslept and, after quickly putting myself together, ran right to the bank. It may seem liberating being invisible and all that — not having to worry about your appearance, but the opposite is actually true. I work hard to keep up my appearance because I keep hoping to get noticed. And noticed for something good — getting noticed for being dirty and poorly dressed doesn’t count.

Back to eating — I was starving, but the bank closes at 1 pm on Saturdays, and I didn’t want to take the chance of not getting there. So me and my grumbling belly were standing on line about four people back from the front.

Working that day, behind the bulletproof glass, from right to left, were Doris, Kathy, Denise, and Vivian. Doris and Denise were both in their mid-thirties and married. Doris had two kids, Denise has one and one on the way. Kathy is in her early thirties (best guess) and single. She is constantly looking for the right guy, but hasn’t had much luck. She seems to choose losers. She’s slightly overweight, and kind of cute. She’s got a great smile that she uses a lot, and, if she ever seemed to notice me I probably would’ve stammered out an easy-to-refuse offer of a date, but she never noticed me so it wasn’t a problem.

The reason I know so much about the ladies is that I cash my weekly check here, well, weekly. I look at the pictures at their stations and listen as they discuss the weekend with one another. Still, despite me coming in at least once a week for three years, not one of them could pick me out of a police line-up, but more on that later.

I’ve left Vivian for last, and for good reason. Vivian is obnoxious, slow, and, in my opinion, not terribly bright. And has a lazy eye, which doesn’t make her a bad person, but I do find it distracting. She had a lot of years working at the bank, and could pretty much do as she pleased — including ruining your life if it struck her fancy (assuming she even had a fancy).

On this day Vivian started tormenting me long before I made it to the counter. Despite the fact that the bank was closing in less than an hour, Vivian was sitting there at her station eating her lunch. She was still helping customers, but it was slowing down an already slow worker.

Plus, she had gotten it from Davey’s — an awesome deli two store fronts down from the bank — and it smelled amazing. My stomach gurgled in agreement. I could see the bag from where I stood. Davey uses those smaller versions of supermarket paper bags with a convenient handle on top. I could smell roast beef. And onions. She must’ve gotten the #12. I love the #12.

The person at the front of the line went to Vivian. Good. She’d never finish in time to help me. The next person went off to Kathy, which I would’ve liked, but no big deal.

But Kathy’s customer had a problem, and Denise, after finishing up with her customer, went over to help. Uh oh. Doris called the next customer over; I was now second in line. If Vivian would move her ass and help this guy in front of me, I’d be set. Hopefully, Doris’s customer would be a while.

Shit! Doris called over the guy in front of me. Kathy and Denise were still helping that other nuisance. C’mon Doris work quickly. I started to sweat and drum my foot up and down, watching the customers at the windows like they were horseraces. C’mon Doris!

The customer at Vivian’s station turned and walked away. Doris’s customer was still there.

Vivian yelled, “Next,” with a mouth full of roast beef.

I slowly began walking over to her station and, somewhere between the dark purple plastic rope and the slotted plexiglass in front of Vivian, I snapped. Let’s do the math:

Intense hunger + No money + Immediate forgetability superpower + Incompetent bank teller = Crazy action

I walked up to the window and, instead of handing over my check and asking to stop charging me all those fucking bank fees, I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and said:

“This is a robbery. Put all of the money in your till into the Davey’s bag along with the rest of your sandwich.” I love the #12.

To be perfectly honest, I had thought about doing this before. Pretty much every week as I stood in line. It seemed to be the perfect use of my powers. Rob the teller, then get back in line as she tried in vain to describe to the police what the culprit looked like. Even if they got me on camera, no one would remember ever seeing me before, and wouldn’t raise an eyebrow the next time I walked through the door.

As I mentioned, I’m not a dishonest person, and I really tried to think of ways my power could be used to help society, but, as far as super powers go, mine sucks. The bank robbery is all I could come up with.

So I did it. Vivian stared at me for a second after I gave my order, a chewed ball of roast beef jutting in from her cheek. Then she slowly opened her till and proceeded to fill the Davey’s bag with money.

“The sandwich,” I reminded her. She looked more upset about that than the money, but she did as I said. The she pushed the bag toward me, shoving it through the narrow gap under the bulletproof glass.

I pulled it toward me and managed to wiggle it free. I held it close to my side using the handy carrying handle. My other hand never left my jacket pocket.

“Now don’t say a word until I’m gone, right.” Vivian nodded in agreement. I was careful not to mention anything about shooting anyone, because, if I got caught, I hear you get in more trouble if you have a gun or said you had a gun. No need to take any unnecessary chances, as the witless Vivian didn’t take much prodding.

I think Doris would have given me some shit, so it turned out to be a good thing that I got stuck with Vivian after all.

I turned and walked only slightly quicker than normal toward the door. I didn’t hear Vivian say anything and I looked over my shoulder to double-check. She was watching me leave, mouth still agape.

I walked out the door and jogged down to the corner. Across the street was a Starbucks (isn’t there always) with big windows that faced both sides of the street. I figured I’d go grab a cappuccino and a seat by the window and watch what happens.

I was surprised at how calm I was considering I had just committed my first felony. Maybe it was confidence in my powers. Or maybe it just needed a second to settle in and I would be a basket case in a minute or so.

Wouldn’t you know it turned out to be the latter.