Carl Winslow was waiting for his order at Sonic’s, the fast food joint where high school girls come and serve you on roller skates like the good ol’ days. He blasted the Beatles as he waited and lit a cigarette. He watched for the server in his rear view mirror. It’d been ten minutes and still no chili cheese tots.
He noticed a Girl Scout quietly pep talking herself and working up the courage to ask him to buy their cookies. He would, too.
“Excuse me, sir?” the freckled little red head asked him.
“Yes, sweetie?” Carl answered.
“Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”
“I sure wo--,” he felt a cold piece of metal up to his cheek.
“Don’t move! Drive away and be cool!” a child’s voice yelled at him.
He felt another cold piece of metal in the back of his head.
“Try any funny stuff, old man, and I’ll blow yer freakin’ head off!” another child’s voice said.
The Girl Scout who had first tried to solicit the sale got in to his driver’s side back seat and yelled, “Brittany! Where are the handcuffs?!”
“Gum drops, Alice!” Brittany, the girl in the passenger seat yelled, “I left them in my mom’s van!”
“Snookers!” the third girl, Lisa, yelled.
“GET DRIVING!” Brittany screamed.
“Girls, sweethearts, let’s take it easy. Where do you want to go?” Carl was sweating bullets in fear of them.
“Just start driving, geezer! We’ll give you directions,” Alice said.
Carl reversed and turned right onto Katella Ave. He knew there was a police department just a little ways up the street. He’d pull in there and send these sweethearts straight to prison.
“Make a U-turn first chance you get, silly!” Brittany smiled from ear to ear, food clinging to her fuchsia colored braces.
“Yeah!” Alice agreed.
“We’re not falling for that driving by the police station trick!” Lisa said in the back.
“Listen, old man! We’re saving up for a pony!” Brittany said.
“So empty out your wallet!”
“I don’t have any cash on me! All I have is a debit card!”
Alice in the back pulled out a shot gun of her own.
“STOP THE CAR!” she screamed.
Carl slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road.
“Not like that you goober!” Brittany yelled, “pull into the park!”
“You’re going to have to tell us what the fudge a debit card is!” Lisa was picking her nose.
“You can’t buy a pony with a debit card, girls,” Carl said, “you’ll probably need a cosigner and a down payment in cash.”
All three girls started screaming at the top of their lungs, Carl’s eardrums felt like they were about to burst and he felt like he was on the verge of an aneurysm and at that moment Carl wished one of them would just shoot him.
“Take us to the bank or we’ll keep screaming!”
“OK! OK! Jesus Christ!”
One of the girls cocked their guns.
“Don’t say the freakin’ Lord’s name in vain!” she said as she jammed the barrel as hard as she could into the back of Carl’s sweating head.
Carl drove to his bank. He looked at every car he passed by to see if he could get anyone’s attention. Everyone had their windows rolled up and their music blasting. They were all looking straight ahead or straight down at their cell phones.
When they got to the bank, Carl drove through the drive-up ATM. Brittany smiled sweetly at him and fluttered her eyes, “Empty out your bank account, pretty please!” she smiled and flashed her braces right at him and his heart broke.
He wasn’t dumb enough to empty out his entire bank account so he just pulled out $200. “Here!” he yelled, “Take it and get the fuck out of my car!”
“Cool it, mister,” Brittany said and pointed her gun right at his dick.
Alice leaned in between them from the back.
“You’re telling us that a man who drives around a Mercedes only has $200? Shoot his wiener off!” she yelled.
Lisa took off her seat belt and climbed into the front. The whole time her gun was pointed at his dick.
“NO! NO! NO! Wait!” Carl yelled, “Let me get some more.”
He withdrew $300 because his daily ATM limit was only $500.
“Hey, mister!” Brittany the braced one said, “You don’t only have $500, you think we’re stupid!?”
“It’s a daily withdrawal limit, I can’t take any more out! It won’t let me! When you’re old enough, you’ll understand! I swear!”
“I smell a fibber,” Lisa squeaked. She whacked him in the back of the head with her gun.
He fell forward onto his horn and lay unconscious. His horn blaring, the three little girls jumped out of his car. Red-headed Alice pulled out her pink cell phone.
“Daddy!” she said, “Can you pick us up at the Chase bank on South Street? We sold a lot of cookies today!”
Bio: Andrew Hilbert lives and works in Austin, TX. He maintains this blog: The Cheesepaper.