you walk into the local bank, a gun hidden in your pocket.

You're nervous, this is your first time robbing a bank. You feel something else, though. Anxiety? Adrenalin? Excitement? Not sure. You sigh, seeing a looonnnnggg line. Do you want to pull the gun out right now? No. Half the people here are on their devices, they'll call the cops. You sulk while walking in line, begging whatever entity is out there to hurry this shit up.

Finally, after what feels like years, it's your turn. You look at the clerk. He looks miserable, tired of everyone's bullshit. Who wouldn't be? Imagine dealing with old people that don't know anything about cards or atms, whiny children, karens, and rowdy groups of people on a daily. He glances at you, and speaks.

"Hello. What can I do for you?"

you can practically hear the sigh of annoyance in his voice, as if he's tired of your mere existence. And just waiting to hear the bullshit coming out of another person's mouth irks him.