A Gambler’s Blunder
Travis was not an extraordinary man. Nor was he even an above average man. He was, in a word, ordinary. If you walked past him on the street, you wouldn’t even spare him a second thought. He didn’t have any strange hobbies, any quirks in his personality or marks on his body that would distinguish him from everybody else. He worked as an accountant at a large corporation. A fitting job, for such an ordinary man, a bland, spiceless job, that was much more well suited for a computer than a man. This was Travis. A man so boring and so uninteresting you’d wonder if such a man could even exist, if it was even possible for somebody to be so purely, unbelievably average.
When he was a kid he’d sit in front of the TV on Saturday mornings, watch show after show of superheros, of spies, of good guys and bad guys and damsels in distress. When he was a kid he’d play superheros with his friends, or secret agents, or cowboys and indians, any form of childish emulation from what they watched on the screen. He’d imagined growing up and being James Bond, or Batman, or Iron Man, or The Lone Ranger. He’d imagine taking out legions of bad guys with nothing but his fists, guns, and wit. Yet as he grew older, he’d learned the cruel truth of life. That for most, for 99.9% of people, it was boring. You woke up, crawled out of bed, dragged your lifeless corpse to the nearest coffee shop, go to work, get home, sleep, and repeat, until you retire, or die.
Travis wasn’t a risk taker. He spent most of his life alone, except a pet fish or cat here and there. He’d had opportunities, sure, but he’d decided they were to risky. He’d rather avoid the pain of a break up than enjoy the experience of a relationship, not that he’d ever gone through either. He always walked, never biked or drove, because he didn’t want to risk hurting himself, or somebody else. In meetings, he’d talk only when spoken to, and never for long. He never took breaks, cause he abhorred the idea of small talk, of awkward conversation. Travis was lonely, and that was perfectly fine with him.
He’d planned on living a boring, pointless life. Stay at the same job at the same company for 40, 50 years until he had enough to retire and live out the meager few years he had left alone and decrepit. This idea didn’t excite him, but it didn’t bring him dread either. He merely accepted it as what it was. He didn’t think life could be anything more, or less.
Yet one day things hadn’t gone well for Travis. The coffee shop he frequented shut down, the boss he’d so naturally been tolerated by suddenly was on his back. The coworkers who’d greeted him in the morning had suddenly turned against him, and before he knew it he was out on the sidewalk, with nothing but his business casual and a cardboard box with the few trinkets he’d brought with him to the office. A mechanical pencil he’d had since he could write, a box of pencil lead, a picture of a cat long dead, and an envelope.
That envelope had been the one thing about Travis he’d seen as unique. The one thing that marked him out as a person, and not a corporate drone. His mother had given it to him, shortly before she’d died. She’d told him to open it whenever he felt like it, which he hadn’t, ever. Like most decisions, this was mostly driven by his allergy to risks. What if he tore it? What if there wasn’t anything inside? What if it was blank piece of paper, and he truly wasn’t special?
Yet even now, with his once stable future gone like so much dust in the wind, he didn’t feel like opening it. There was no reason not to, he just didn’t felt like it.
So what was next for our dear old Travis? The man so boring and plain you wouldn’t notice if he were replaced by a computer? What does one do when all they’ve planned for, all they’ve lived for, suddenly evaporates before their eyes? There are many answers to this question, cry, give up, try again, fall into a depression, yet only one came to Travis. Suicide.
Now, don’t get it confused. Travis was not sad about the destruction of his plans. Like all things in his life, he took it as it was. But to a man of Travis’s mindset, there was no alternative option to his planned outcome. No plan b. And now, with his future nowhere to be seen, death was his only option.
He decided the first thing to do was to go to the bank, and take all of his money out. He didn’t know what he’d do with it, just that that’s what he would do. So he went to the bank, each step forward another step towards his death.
It is unknown, even to Travis himself, why he went to the bank, why he took out this money. Perhaps he hoped to life the life he never had, to go on a week long bender and die feeling content and satisfied. Perhaps he just didn’t want his money to stay around longer than he did. Perhaps it was just a reflex, and there was no reason to it, though, knowing Travis, this was probably not the case.
It was when he was the third person in line for the teller that it happened. A man with a gun, a mask, and some makeshift body armor kicked the door open, let it close, and shouted, “Everybody to get on the ground! This is a fucking robbery!” And everybody did.
Except Travis.
Travis just stood there, facing the man, expressionless. If you were a bystander, you might think him deaf, or disabled, unable to comprehend what was happening. But Travis knew full well what was happening. The one day he’d come to get his money, some big dude with a gun comes in and demands it be given to him. Had this been yesterday, the day before, or even any other day, Travis would have happily obliged, laying on the ground, prostrating before them, as, after all, he wasn’t a risk taker.
Yet this time was different. Travis did not fear death anymore- after all, what more had life to offer?- and he stood. The robber, glaring at him like looks could kill, shouted, little strands of spit flying from his lips, “Are you deaf dumbass? I said get on the ground, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out!”
Travis was silent a moment, before responding, “I heard you, I just don’t feel like lying down right now.”
The robber got so mad it looked like you could see the flush through the mask, “I didn’t ask if you felt like lying down, numbnuts, I told you to lie down!”
The robber started walking closer to Travis, and raised the but of his rifle to knock him down, when police sirens started sounding outside.
“Shit!” The robber, obviously unprepared, furiously passed glances between Travis and the doors outside. Finally, he strapped the rifle across his back and pulled out a handgun from his pocket, grabbed Travis’s arm, and hauled him towards the back, of the bank, ordering clerks to give him access to the back rooms and dragging Travis along, a gun to his ribs the entire time.
There’s a bang from the front, and shouting from people, Travis assumed the police, for everybody to “get on the ground!” and “don’t move!” as well as the panicked shrieks of civilians and people telling the police where Travis and the guy went.
The robber, having somewhat regained his sense, fires his gun into the ceiling, and proclaims he has a hostage, and will kill him if his demands aren’t met. The police then back off, not willing to risk an innocents life, and set down to negotiations.
Travis isn’t really paying attention to them though. He just stares at the robber the entire time.
After a while, he says, “you know, you aren’t going to win this.”
The robber, irritated, snarls, “yeah? And why’s that?”
Travis chuckles, for the first time he can remember in a long time, he chuckles, “because you have no bargaining chip.”
“Really? Cause it seems like it’s talking to me right now.”
This causes Travis to laugh, harder. “Oh yeah,” he wheezes, in between spasms, “you sure have a bargaining chip here. Of all the hostages you could have taken, you took the suicidal ex-accountant with nothing left to live for. Great choice.”
The robber seems taken aback, but manages to put up a tough face and says, “Okay, but they don’t know that.”
Travis, calming down a little, chuckles again, “But that doesn’t matter does it? What happens here? Scenario A, they storm in here, you kill me, and you’re charged for aggravated assault, murder, and attempted robbery. Scenario B, you manage to bluff it, and get what you want, only to be on the run for robbery. Or, Scenario C, I just walk out there, and you either shoot me and I die, leading to your arrest, or I walk free, and you lose your bargaining chip, and are arrested. So which one do you wanna bet on? And remember, you can only go all in.”
Travis sees the robber’s face go white through the mask, the realization that of the situation he’s in comes crashing down on him all in a single moment. A smirk on his face, Travis pushes himself up off the ground, and walks towards the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll say you surrender, say you gave up peacefully, maybe they’ll go easier on you.”
The robber nods nervously, and falls to his knees, the faraway look in his eyes of a man whose lost it all. Travis wonders if he’d looked like that, only a few hours before. He decides he didn’t, and walks out the door to the police, his hands up, telling them the would be robber has surrendered.
As the police escort the robber out of the bank, Travis just gets back in line, perhaps to withdraw his money and end it all, perhaps not.
