It comes from having an older brother.
Brotherhood is a lawless fraternity, but even still my brother George was a rogue without peer. While there were many pleasures to be found in broad daylight - swirlies, wet Willies, and atomic crotch rockets, to name a few - there was little George enjoyed more than making the darkness an accessory to his crimes. He would lurk in darkened bathrooms, hallways, closets, and whatever else space he could claim, and then simply wait for his prey to arrive. George had plenty of time. My torment was his one and only hobby and obligation.
There wasn't much in the way of creativity in George's approach - a sudden scream here, a blind grab there - but I suppose the results bore themselves out. By my best count, George has made me piss myself on 13 separate occasions, and shit myself twice - once, funnily enough, about ten minutes prior to my wedding.
So George is the cause of it. George is the reason why I send meaningless warnings down blind alleyways. George is the reason why I say things like, "Give it up already" when I clomp off to the bathroom in the middle of the night. George is the reason I've managed to convince little Danny that our house is haunted. On the plus side, however, he seems to think I have a very off-the-cuff relationship with our ghosts, which are some of the very few points I have in my favor these days.
George is also the reason I'm alive.
I work at Trans National Bank, you see. I'm very proud to say I'm the youngest Branch Manager in a quarter century. And while that doesn't necessarily make me a rich man, it does make me an important man. Or, more accurately, an important seeming man. And that can have it's drawbacks.
I happened to be dawdling one Tuesday and ended up still in my office as the bank was nearing close. I sent Reggie home early and closed up in his stead. A half hour later, I emerged, making quick headway towards my car on the third floor of the garage. And while the parking spaces in the garage are well lit, the stairs and tunnels leading in and out are not. Perhaps they once were, but these days, once the sun has gone down, those areas are as black as a grave.
So I did what I always do in these situations. I opened the door to the stairwell and said, quite firmly, "I'm not falling for it. I know you're in there. Come out where I can see you."
And, to my surprise, a gentleman did just that.
He wore a long black coat and sheepish smirk. He put his hands up. "Right, right. You got me." His eyes ran me up and down. "You got training or something? File didn't say nuthin' about that."
"Loads of training," I said, waving my briefcase in his general direction. I was still trying to wrap my mind around this peculiar turn of events. "More than you, I'd wager. Skulking around in the dark like that. That's the first thing I check for."
He nodded, still sizing me up. He didn't seem sure whether or not he needed to keep his hands in the air, so I waved my briefcase about some more. That kept his hands good and up.
"I suppose you want to know who I'm working for," he said.
"And what makes you think I don't already know?" I said. Obviously I did not know. But this seemed like the more impressive response.
"He won't be happy," said the man.
"Well, I'm late for dinner. So he can queue up behind my wife."
The man grimaced. "He'll kill me for this. You know how he's like."
I grimaced as well, though I suspect for different reasons. "That's, well, that's what comes of mucking about in dark stairwells, isn't it? Picked the wrong bloke for that old ploy, eh?"
The man's shoulders slumped. "That's fair, I guess. I underestimated you, and this is what I get. I just...if I have to go out, mate, I'd much rather go out on a job, you know?"
I nodded. "I've daydreamed a time or two about passing peacefully in my office. I certainly see the appeal."
He perked up a bit. "So...you'll do it?"
I took a quick step backwards in time and replayed the gentleman's earlier comments. Suddenly his meaning was a bit more clear. "Oooooh. That's...no. That's really not a skill I'd like to add to my CV."
"He'll kill me all the same."
I frowned. "And that...is really just a shameful way to conduct business, I think. Makes people afraid to make mistakes. When you're afraid to make mistakes, you play it safe, and then no one ever grows or takes chances. Business 101, really. You should tell him that. You made a mistake. You learned. You'll be better going forward, eh? Tell him he really needs to think long and hard about the sort of message he wants to be sending his employees. I should know. I'm the youngest Branch Manager in nearly a quarter of a century."
The man blinked. "Branch Manager?"
I nodded. "Well, I'm not the youngest anymore. Promotion was a few years ago, but the thing of it is..."
"Aren't you Reginald Monroe?"
"Ehh? No. Not even a little. Reggie is the Teller Manager. He's below me. I'm his boss."
The man's face split into a wide smile. "Oh my heavens! All this time and I'd thought I'd mangled it all up. You're not Reggie Munroe?"
I shook my head. "I'm really not."
The man's sides shook with relieved laughter. "Oh, what a load. That's a wonder. You're his manager?"
I nodded.
"Is he closing tomorrow?"
"Yes," I said.
"Great, great!" He blew out a long, exaggerated sigh. "No harm done. Alright. Tomorrow. Great. Thank you, sir. Have a great evening."
"Well, you're welcome?" I replied, slightly dumbfounded.
And that, you see, is how my brother's years of torment ultimately, against all odds, saved my life.
If only Reggie had had an older brother like George. Such a tragedy...
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