The Bank Robbery
Chapter 3 — Uncle Vanya (In which your lawyer to be muses about the writer, Anton Chekhov and how Chekhov might save him for certain death)
In law school, late in the evenings after studying I would watch theater performances on PBS. It relaxed me and I would fall asleep easy. My favorite play to watch over and over was Uncle Vanya, by Anton Checkhov.
Checkhov was a master dramatist. Uncle Vanya might be his masterwork. Everyone has an Uncle Vanya in their family and everyone has an Uncle Vanya within themselves. It is that vulnerable, uncertain part of you who thinks you wasted your life, made mistakes. You live with regret. You live longing to be loved and guided through this life, with love.
In Checkhov’s play, there is the scene where Uncle Vanya tries to shoot his brother-in-law for his misuse of him and for betraying him. Vanya is a prisoner to his brother’s life. He despises him.
Vanya gets off two shots at his brother but misses point blank. The gun then runs out of bullets or jams. And Vanya, even angrier now, leaves the estate area in fierce anger. He is broken.
It is a nice thought that comes to mind lying on the floor of the bank. Wow, am I broken? I took this job to try to finish law school, have a little freedom, and here I am being robbed at gunpoint. One cannot get much dumber than this.
All I can think though is, maybe this guy is a poor shot. Maybe he is Uncle Vanya. Maybe the gun will jam. I have read and heard that 9 mm Glock pistols jam all the time. I need to think of it that way. I look at him and he does not look like anyone named Vanya. He looks like the Rev. Jesse Jackson.
Checkhov was Russian anyway so Vanya was Russian. I am doomed. Nina is not coming. No one is coming. Even if Uncle came shooting crooked then maybe we could all escape.
We are idiots anyway. We, the bank staff, did not even handle the robbery properly.
When you are being robbed, there is a small button underneath each teller station. You are supposed to press that button one time. You can do it without even being noticed. Not one of us pressed the button. All of that training, rehearsal, and reminders, and we got it wrong.
They even sent out staff to the bank after I started and they went over it again. I never even thought about pressing the button. I just saw the bank robber enter the bank and said — Holy shit. We are being robbed.
I used to look at banks and think — who in the right mind would rob a bank? It is like a fortress. But now I know. Where else are you going to be able to net a big haul of cash? A bank.
I would see all the cameras, all of the double locked doors, and the plexiglass, and still I was convinced that there was no way the bank would ever get robbed. That’s why I didn’t pay much attention to the little detail about the little button underneath the teller stations. I glanced up from the ground for just a second and there I could see all of the buttons.
If only one of us had pressed the button, the calvary would be on the fucking way and we would be rescued. Or maybe, he would take us hostage. I doubt that. This bank was not good for hostage taking.
It was a small branch in a neighborhood with low foot traffic. Good luck trying to rob this joint and not get an early start from the feds. The goal here I could sense was get the money and go. Be damned with any encounter with the police.
Jesse Jackson here, holding the pistol, and gathering up the last of the cash lying around, wanted to get going. I still wasn’t sure if he would shoot us but just say I had my doubts. He wanted the money, not the news headlines. Just like Uncle Vanya in the play, Uncle Vanya.
Maybe life dealt homeboy a bad hand or an unfair hand. Maybe he was just broke or had a family to support. Or maybe this was his thing — bank robberies. But one thing for sure, Jesse wanted that paper. Lots of it. His life, like Uncle Vanya, finally had meaning when he was in control like this, and ready to score.
