Overthunk

The drive-up ATM line is a clusterfuck as usual, here in this sudden population boom suburb, so I pull around to the front. The drive through lanes all having proudly displayed in red how closed they were, I figured the inside was, too, so I swiped the ATM card through the spy slit in the side of the brass-framed glass to reach the lobby ATM, to make my deposit of half the rent I was owed, finally received. I waited to hear the click of the spy slot rendering my security clearance valid. I didn't but I still yanked at the thick handle and wide it swung, some greeter cheerily saying, "Hello!" as I, within milliseconds, felt foolish to have done the thing you do when the bank is closed, when the bank was clearly open.  Chuckling very small to myself, at myself, I approached the kiosk where the tethered pens, one always missing, somehow, exposing some hole in writing utensil security because all their eyes are on the money. Signing neatly (for once) and dutifully writing