Strapped for cash

Shuffling in my wheelchair I pretended to read one of the bank's pamphlets about credit cards. I hate banks, they're always so patronising and smug. I was hoping this little excursion was going to be quick and painless.

The weekend had been a drunken blur. The lads had bought the "new drug" therapy story I had concocted. The gloves were of course to cover some nasty skin side affect. I was pleased with myself for being so imaginative! They had welcomed me back with open arms and many free drinks.

A fresh shopping list lay on my bed side table this morning and I needed funds to get the supplies. Disability allowance can only get you so far, so I had to head cap in hand to the bank. I also thought it prudent to wheel myself there rather than stride. Sometimes the sympathy vote can come in handy.

Removing the "device" was easy it just simply slipped off when I wanted it to. It also reattached itself when I panicked and wanted make sure I could get it back on. I was eager to find out what this new list was going to produce.

"Mr. Mortimer?" The fit assistant came over. I looked up making sure I had a good gander at her legs on the way.

"Mr. Mortimer, the manager will see you now"

Filed in: Vault