“Kid, you really need to learn the definition of important, you know that? Now pipe down. I’ll deal with you in a minute.” I turn back to his sister, working to soften my tone. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about you and I start over? Let’s just wipe this messy slate clean and begin again, how does that sound? You promise to be good, and I’ll promise not to hurt you or your br—”

I stop. Sniff the air, at the exact same time Baxter empties his lungs. “The poop is coming!”

C A M

4:38 p.m.

I stare at the broad backside of the fussy fortysomething lady blocking the teller’s window and will her to hurry the hell up. Twenty-two minutes and counting until the security guard locks the big glass door behind me and flips the sign to Closed, and this woman is standing here like she has all day.

She leans against the counter, oblivious to the line six people deep behind her, and shouts into the bulletproof glass, “I really need that money today.”

Yeah, welcome to the club, lady.

I can’t see the teller from where I’m standing, but a tinny voice spurts from the speaker at the edge of the glass. “I understand that, ma’am, but the bank typically needs twenty-four hours’ notice for a cashier’s check. Did you place the order online?”

The lady shakes her head, but her brown bowl cut doesn’t budge. From her shoulder, a wrinkly canvas bag says “Abs are cool but have you tried doughnuts?” in pink and purple rhinestones. “That’s what I’m here for, to place the order and get the check. That’s why I got in my car and drove all the way over here, because I need it today.”

I shift to my other foot and sigh, loud and obvious, and I’m not the only one. Hushed curses and heaved sighs swirl from the folks behind me, all clutching their wallets and checking their watches. Another teller ambles by behind the window with a stack of twenties, looking everywhere but in the direction of the glass. A Next Window Please sign stands propped at the other three teller windows, the blue canvas stools behind them empty.

I look around for a manager, another bank employee, anyone I can ask to light a fire under this transaction, but if they’re here, they’re hiding. Even the security guard is gone, vanished behind the thick locked doors.

“I can put a rush on your order, ma’am,” the teller is saying, “but there is an added fee, and we’ll still need time to pull the check together. And considering we close in...twenty minutes, I’m afraid the check won’t be ready until tomorrow.”