Loan

Geoffrey Addison liked to think himself an honest and sensible man. He lived a simple enough life, but it was his simple enough life. He was not afflicted with the impatience which affected the rest of the youth. Twenty-four years young, Geoffrey had not told a single lie since he was nine years old. In his fifteen truthful years, Geoffrey had also yet to borrow any significant sum of money which he was unlikely to be able to pay back.

Yet here he was, quite possibly about to do both.

The cheque had bounced. That was plan A. He knew the cheque might bounce when he wrote it. After all, that tended to happen annoyingly often when one's bank account did not have enough cash in it to fulfill said cheque.

Plan B had involved getting in touch with that one rich uncle who had had a soft spot for him, but instead of a bank draft, he got a funeral invitation.

Rest in peace, Uncle John.

The less said about plan C the better. Suffice to say, Geoffrey did not want to speak with another Nigerian prince in his lifetime.

Plans D through Y had been equally unsuccessful, some more spectacular failures than others.

And here he was, trying to execute plan Z.

He stood in front of a bank building. He had been here plenty of times before, but the building had never looked quite so foreboding. The building was grey, drab, and depressing to look at, but he liked to think it was shaped like a thumb.

Now it looked like a gravestone, foreshadowing his own fate.

"Sir," his gawking was interrupted by the guard at the front door, "Are you going to the bank or not?"

Geoffrey nodded hastily, trotting into the bustling building, letting himself blend into the crowd, simply walking through the dozens of people, as he walked round and round the bank, mulling over his plan.

"Sir," he was interrupted once again, "Please find your way to a teller. This is a bank, not a park."

Geoffrey looked up to see the same guard from outside regarding him suspiciously.

Geoffrey laughed awkwardly, "So it is."

So maybe his blending had not been the most subtle.

Maybe fedora hats and trench coats weren't trendy anymore?

When he showed no indication to move, the guard began directing him towards the exit.

"Okay, okay, I'm getting there!" Geoffrey said, hurrying himself towards the closest teller, a very short and very grumpy looking man with pointy ears and a pointy nose.

"How may I help you?" his teller said.

"Are you a midget?" Geoffrey blurted out, before clapping a hand over his mouth, "I-I mean, person-of-short-stature."

The teller was not amused, "That," he said tightly, "Is none of your business, sir, now, do you have any actual business here, or do I need to have you removed?"

"No sir. That is to say you do not need to have me removed, I do have business here, Mr…?" Geoffrey prompted the person of short stature to offer his name.

"Mr. Petit," the teller said sourly.

Geoffrey's lips twitched upwards at the irony, "I see, well Mr. Petit, I am here to ask for a loan."

Suddenly, Petit was interested, "Details of your account, please?"

Geoffrey filled him in.

Petit hmmed, "Your credit rating is...average. You have never taken a loan before," he observed, "How much is it for?"

Geoffrey looked left. He looked right. He whispered a number into the little man's ear.

Petit's beady eyes bulged. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Addison, that will not be possible."

Geoffrey took a deep breath. His heart rate quickened. He knew this would happen, now it was time to initiate his plan.

Geoffrey's lower lip quivered.

"Spare me the waterworks, Mr. Addison," Petit said dismissively.

Geoffrey blinked back tears and offered a watery smile, "Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to appeal to your emotions, not in the slightest."

"I'm sure you weren't," Petit nodded, "Now get out of here, there's a line behind you."

Geoffrey was crestfallen, but he hid it well (or so he hoped).

"You know-," Geoffrey started.

"I really don't want to."

"-I have a serious medical condition-"

"I couldn't care less, now get out of my line or I'll call a guard," Petit threatened.

"I have Seizitis. It's a rare disease which causes me to break into uncontrollable seizures at the drop of a hat," Geoffrey fibbed, "I need this money, it's for my medical bills."

"You should be at your insurance office, not here,"

Geoffrey scratched his head, "You see, the problem with that is that I don't exactly have insurance."

Petit looked at Geoffrey, "You are as much a liar as you are stupid."

Much as he felt like retorting, Geoffrey instead put into action the last piece of his plan.

"I'm having a seizure!" he exclaimed, before jerking his body oddly.

"Are you breakdancing?" Petit asked, doubtfully.

"I'm having a seizure!" Geoffrey repeated.

"Right, that's enough," Petit said, pressing the red button under his desk and summoning a guard, who grabbed a hold of the wriggling Geoffrey's shirt collar and began to drag him away from the teller's station.

The guard escorted Geoffrey out of the premises of the bank.

It seemed like dishonesty wasn't quite as easy as he'd thought it would be.

Still, he had to keep trying.

After all, he needed the new iPhone.