"Yes, I'm know I'm not the recipient of the check." His answer was some pointless noise from the cashier. She looked younger than him, which in his mind, explained a lot.
"Because she can hardly walk, much less hold a conversation of this caliber." He pulled out his old, nearly shredded leather waller, and produced a plastic card from it, and offered the ID to the young woman.
"Because I'm her caregiver. Look it up, it's in the system." More pointless prattle, the cashier typing at her keyboard a and clicking with her mouse. There might have been some apologies in there, he didn't notice. He would be given his card back, again accompanied by some more excuses and pointless apologies. Apologies weren't going to pay for groceries, or keep the lights on.
"Look, I don't care if you're new. Just get your supervisor, or hell, someone competent here so I can be done with this and leave." His tone was stern, angry, meanwhile the cashier was slowly being reduced to tears by his berating words. She apologized again, and got up, leaving the young man to lean on the table, angrily tapping his finger against the hardwood.
He was getting looks, both from people standing in front of the desk with other cashiers, and from people sitting or standing, waiting their turn. He didn't care. No, instead Xander sighed, exasperated. Weren't the kind of people who worked at banks the kinds who always went on and on about time being money and that kind of bullcrap? His tapping grew harder, the click of his fingernail against the desk growing louder. Then there was someone who came, a man, dark-skinned, notably overweight, in his early thirties.
"Finally someone who hopefully knows how to do their job." Xander spoke, glancing at the female cashier who followed behind as the man sat down behind the computer. The man gobbled something, the rolls of fat on his neck jiggling as he see,ed to actually be getting something done, though he was also trying to admonish him for his tone with the other cashier, or something stupid like that.
"Don't take that tone with me. Just do what your useless co-worker couldn't wrap her head around, give me my money, and I'll be out of your fucking hair so I can have you out of mine." He got more looks as he raised his voice. The older man looked at him from behind the counter, then looked to his screen after a few clicks, and then back to him. There was a few more clicks, and the printer to the man's left came to life, spitting out sheets of paper that looked familiar enough. It was handed to him, along with a pen.
He went to work signing it, while the man got up, and the woman from before took the seat again, beginning to click away at the mouse again. Xander finished with the dates and signatures on the third copy just as the man returned. The young female cashier would shift her seat, Xander pushing the documents and pen back, while the older man stepped closer and started counting bills onto the table. His breathing began to slow as the count went up, the stack of bills going. It wasn't too small an amount.
The man then placed the ID Xander had given earlier on top of the stack, and pushed it to him. The young man in turn, picked up the stack, and counted through them just to be safe. He'd nod, and begin stuffing the bills and the card into his wallet, before tapping on the documents on the table.
"Put my copy in with the rest." Was all he said, before turning away to leave. An old woman gave him a stare as he was just about to exit the store. Xander would stop, and stare the lady back, until she relented, muttering something to herself.
His steps brought him to an alley not far away, faster to get to the store this way.
"Well look who we have here, if it isn't Andy, no doubt back from cashing in Mommy's little check." A mocking tone spoke out, behind him. He sighed, turning around. Three kids, wanna-be punks, dressed in old leather jackets that almost would kinda match, if you stuck hot pokers in your eyes.
"Not this shit again, Felix..." He barely kept his voice somewhat calm. The center one of the group, a blonde kid with a mohawk and way too much eyeshadow on, plucked the cigarette from his lips and swung the hand in his direction.
"I told you a thousand times to call me Slash." The thug said, trying to sound threatening, the effect of which was ruined as he was hit by a coughing fit.
The older male rolled his eyes.
"Whatever you say Felix." The response only provoked an angry growl from the kid.
"Can just... I dun' fuckin' know? Bug me some other day? I already wasted enough time at the bank, and I'm running late." Something about this made the punk grin, and he muttered something to his cronies. They then began approaching.
"Well, ya' see, we was thinkin' more along the lines of you, giving us that wallet, and then scurrying home to mommy like a little bitch?" Xander, looked more amused than anything. e tilted his head, grinning.
"Yeah... How 'bout... No. Now fuck off." It seemed this was pretty much what the three wanted, as they would charge him.
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The three lay on the ground, groaning. A pocket knife lay on the ground, along with a few small spatters of blood. Felix's left arm was bent sideways at the elbow, the kid whining. And amidst them Xander stood, a bootprint on his shirts, along with a few small cuts, and a black eye. But he was standing. He picked up the cigarette, still somehow smoldering, and walked over to Felix.
"I thought you'd have learned by now that wasn't gonna work." That said, he dropped down,planting one knee on the kids chest, before pressing the still hot cigarette right between his eyes.
As excepted, his complaints intensified, eyes tearing up, messing up his eyeshadow. Xander then stood up.
"And seriously, you need to stop smoking. What would your parents think?"And with that said, he walked off.
Word Count:: 1060
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