“See to it that it doesn’t happen again,” I said to the bank teller. ”Or else…”
“Or else what?”
“Or else this will be your head.” I picked up what I thought was a stress ball and began squeezing, but it turned out to be a billiards ball.
“You’re going to put your hand on my head?” he asked. ”I don’t understand.”
I did my best to cover as much of the ball as I could with my hand.
“I’m going to cover most of it,” I said. ”Imagine how uncomfortable THAT will be!”
“Sounds awful,” said the bank teller.
At home, I managed to scratch the ball up pretty bad by hitting it repeatedly with a hammer. I live kind of far from the bank so it doesn’t make sense to drive all the way out there, but I’ve got the ball in my glovebox ready to go for when I have to run errands in that neighborhood. Mark my words: I WILL show the bank teller his scratched up “head.” I’m not kidding!
A year it’s been since I’ve read this and I’m still dying with laughter!
