A Bird Walks Into a Bank

A bird walked into a bank with a gun.

It had been an especially slow day at the branch, where only one teller was working. As she had done for the last forty years, she was passing the time by doodling in her notebook. She was nearly finished with the last page of its slender volume when she heard the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps.

"Hello," he sang, looking up at the counter from a few feet below. "Give me 72 dollars, or I'll shoot."

She promptly slammed the black covers shut. The door chime was startling enough on this quiet day, but to see a bird with a firearm? That was another matter altogether.

"Oh my," she gasped, as she peered over the ledge. The teller knew all about birds, and had always respected them—typically from a distance. Her notebook was full of anatomically-correct sketches of all the avians in the neighbourhood.

"I would like to help you with your problem." She flashed the bird with a warm smile. "Why don't you start by giving me your name? I'm Ms. Peep."

"My name is Tweety," the bird replied. His face betrayed no expression, which did not surprise Ms. Peep. As a long-standing member of the Audubon Society, she knew it was impossible for birds to display emotion in their faces, even if they wanted to.

"Tweety Capone. My father was Al Capone, and my mother was one of the jailbirds on Alcatraz."

"Well Tweety—can I call you Tweety?"

"Tweety is what my friends call me. To you, I’m Dr. Capone."

"Doctor? How very interesting. Doctor of what?"

"Botany, with a specialization in carpology—the study of seeds,” Tweety momentarily shifted his gaze to the ground. “Hard to find a job as a seed scientist, though, when everyone thinks you’ll eat the samples."

"That's terrible. I'm sorry to hear that."

"I didn't come here for your pity. I came here for your cash. 72 dollars of it—all in singles, please," he chirped. "Now, can you give me what I want?" Tweety raised his weapon. "Or will I have to ruffle some feathers?"

"No need for any force, Doctor! I'd be happy to assist you." A single bead of sweat formed above Ms. Peep's brow. "But this kind of transaction requires my manager's approval. Let me go get him."

"Of course. But be quick—my trigger feather is itchy."

Ms. Peep rushed to the corner office.

"We've got an interesting situation, Mr. Horner," Ms. Peep began, as she closed the door behind her. "There is a Dr. Capone out front who wants 72 dollars in singles. And he has a weapon."

"My goodness!" Mr. Horner got up from his seat. "You pressed the silent alarm this time, right?"

"Not yet," she trailed off, before catching herself. "There’s something else you need to know about Dr. Capone: he is a bird. Says his first name is Tweety. And you know how much I love birds—"

"Doctor Tweety Capone?!" As Mr. Horner was a human, Ms. Peep had no trouble reading the expression on his face. Before she could explain the situation further, Mr. Horner had already leapt up and rushed out front.

"Tweety?" Mr. Horner bellowed.

Tweety hopped up on the counter, gun in wing. "Jack? Is that you?"

"You're still up to no good." Mr. Horner kept his eyes locked on Tweety. With furrowed brows and pursed lips, he continued. "Tweety and I used to work at the seed bank, where I started my career in bank management. He was a postdoc researcher at the time. We used to stay late together, talking about the finer things in life."

Mr. Horner shook his head. "He couldn't keep his beak out of the samples, though. One night, when we were the last two in the building, Tweety—taken over by his insatiable lust for seed—stole an entire box of rare flax and brought it to my office to eat."

"Shut up, Jack," Tweety said with a flutter.

"I tried to stop him, but he kept on eating.” His eyes began to well up. “I thought of him as a friend then, so I tried to hide the crumbs. The next day, security called us into their office. They revealed that they recently installed a video surveillance system. I was implicated as an accomplice, and Tweety and I were fired together."

"That's enough Jack," Tweety cocked his pistol with his little bird foot. Ms. Peep shrieked. "Once again: give me the money or I'll have to take it from you."

"We'd love to help you, Dr. Capone," Ms. Peep piped up from the back. "Tell me though: why do you need the money? 72 dollars is a lot for a bird."

Tweety paused. "It's going to sound stupid."

"You can trust me," Ms. Peep remarked, moving closer to the action. Her smile was comforting to Tweety. He believed her.

"Well, I'm trying to settle down. I need to build a nest to attract a wife,” Tweety lowered his firearm. “But I don't want to have the same nest as all the other birds—made of sticks and leaves. I'm a Doctor, after all!"

"You're a mad scientist, Tweety. I can vouch for that."

"Thanks Jack." If Tweety had cheeks, he'd be blushing. "I wanted something different, and I came up with a brilliant idea: a nest made entirely of beautiful paper. So I drew some blueprints and crunched the numbers. To get the design I want, I need exactly 72 sheets of paper of the same size and thickness. Regular stock won’t do since it rips too easily. Cardboard is too thick. Paper money was the obvious choice.”

"You're crazy, Tweety," Mr. Horner snapped. "I'll never forgive you for what you did to me. I'll never give you what you want. Go ahead and turn me into bird droppings. You don't have the fingers necessary to turn the key for the vault, anyway."

"Well then, you leave me with no choice." As Tweety pointed his pistol back towards Mr. Horner, Ms. Peep shouted out.

"Wait!" Tweety and Mr. Horner were locked in a staredown, but neither budged an inch. "I have a better idea."

She scuttled over to her station and picked up the notebook she was drawing in earlier.

"Dr. Capone, why don't you take this?" She brought her sketchbook over to him. "Not only is every page of uniform size and shape, but I've drawn pictures on each side. You can have interior and exterior decor taken care of with this." She flipped through the book, proudly displaying her sketches.

"As it happens, it has 72 double-sided pages." The bird cocked his head with intrigue. "That gives you the exact amount you need to build your house, as well as 144 unique works of art. The acid-free paper won't become yellow or brittle, either."

Tweety pondered for a moment. "I love it!” He lowered his gun for the last time, and reached for Ms. Peep’s outstretched hand. “You've got a deal, lady. You just saved your manager from going the way of the dodo."

And with that, Tweety took Ms. Peep's drawings and was on his way.

With the danger behind them, Mr. Horner let out a big sigh. "You know I'm going to have to report this to corporate, right?" Ms. Peep nodded. She didn't like the guys at corporate; they were sticklers for the rules. And let's just say Ms. Peep bought her notebooks unruled for a reason.

Much sooner than anyone expected, the bank was crawling with police and executives from downtown; the cops in their black uniforms, and the execs in their identical navy suits. Ms. Peep delivered her police report with the tranquility she's developed over a decades-long career. Still, she dreaded talking to the suits. She was on thin ice with them already.

After the police left, the suits finally approached her. "So, Ms. Peep, would you mind telling us why—once again—you didn't follow the protocols?"

"Well, I, uh," Ms. Peep was stammering.

"Anytime you see a person with a gun in the bank, you are required to activate the silent alarm," one suit began. "You admitted to seeing the weapon, yet engaged in idle and dangerous chit-chat," another nameless suit continued. "This is not your first incident breaking protocol." The suits moved in closer. "Tell me why I shouldn’t fire you right now, for endangering a fellow employee," a fourth concluded. They never bothered to introduce themselves—they didn't have to. They all had the same views, the same way of thinking. They were effectively one person.

"Bo didn't break any protocols at all," Mr. Horner exclaimed, emerging from his corner office. Ms. Peep was shocked; she had never been on a first name basis with Mr. Horner.

"As you said, she is to press the alarm when she sees a person with a gun. A bird is not a person." The suits glanced at each other. "Not only that, she acted with bravery and courage," Mr. Horner was leading up to something, and the suits figured it out almost immediately.

"In fact, didn't you recently introduce a reward for employees who act in such a manner? The 'Bravery and Courage Incentive', as I recall?"

Ms. Peep’s shock melted to confusion. She diligently kept up with all the bank’s announcements, but this was news to her.

"You make a good point, Mr. Horner," one suit conceded, before huddling with the others.

All eyes were now on Ms. Peep. "The Bravery and Courage Incentive is a 20,000-dollar cash reward. We had sent an email announcing it today."

"She must have been too busy saving my life to read it."

The suits nodded in agreement. "Congratulations, Ms. Peep. You'll be the first recipient of the Incentive." They then whipped out their identical sunglasses while heading for the exit. "We'll be in touch about the ceremony." And with that, four identical sportscars flew out of the parking lot, towards the highway.

“Like birds of a feather.…” Ms. Peep turned to Mr. Horner. "Well, that was certainly unexpected!" She clasped her hands together in gratitude. "Thank you, Jack."

"It's the least I could do. You really saved my tail back there." He watched the execs drive off into the sunset. "I guess the rumors really are true."

"What rumors?"

Jack revealed a grin. "Looks like a Moleskine can stop a bullet after all!"