Banks Goes on Vacation

Banks was an ordinary man, nothing more, nothing less. It was 2 PM on a balmy Saturday and Banks was uncharacteristically chipper.  He was scurrying down vast bustling walkways as he sought out his gate. This was all thanks to the fact that Banks had been the 7th caller on 91.5's "Ham and the Buzz" morning radio broadcast and correctly identified the Prince classic "Little Red Corvette."  Banks was quite proud of the fact that it was this song in particular he had identified, for reasons mostly unknown to him. Lost in a mixture of sweat and satisfaction Banks didn't realize how profusely he had been clogging the moving walkway, to the dismay of an uncharacteristically small Armani suit enveloping a rather coarse business man.  Banks halfheartedly apologized, smirking to himself as he fought back various Danny Devito puns.  The man looked like Devito if he had lost 30 pounds, and redistributed that adipose tissue into a toupee that might get up and walk away.  It's Always Sunny in Rugadelphia....

There was a time when being seated right next to a baby would have been the undoing of Banks.  But with his recent discovery of Xanax meet Bloody Mary, he could deal with the confused and innocent cries yearning for food, sleep, and attention.  What Banks got instead was far more damning.  She was that annoying girl we have all got stuck talking to at a party, except she was now in her mid 60s with a hint of senility and a gallon of unwarranted confidence.

 She did not introduce herself, nor make any attempt at pleasantries as she Mike-Alstott-barreled her way to her designated window seat.  80% of her body weight rested upon Banks' thigh during this maneuver. She then began complaining loudly to no one in particular how "disappointed" she was, although the rest of the sentence was muffled--and did she ever drone on.  She did a 10 minute bit on how misleading "instant" coffee is and the merits of having a "go-to" department store--and  just who decided we even need stamps (free mail for all?).  Oh it was dreadful.  Banks initial tactic was the patient nod, although eventually even the fabricated browsing of Skymall wasn't enough of a hint.

Eventually this verbose vermin tuckered herself out after a particularly long winded soliloquy about the "marigold as rabbit repellent scam" that she fell pray to this year.  Banks had naturally faded in and out of attention but gathered that she had managed to pin this malicious injustice on the "media" and her local congressman.  Impressive, thought Banks.  Banks was able to scamper away as she somehow remained asleep throughout the duration of the landing. Perhaps she had also discovered the tasty Xanax Bloody Mary miracle combo.

He managed to hop aboard his hotel shuttle in what he only assumed was world record time, a flawlessly executed plane dismount-- perfect 10 from the judges no doubt.  He had packed lightly but the rather plump  driver with the name tag "Turbo" insisted on carrying his bag down the 2 steps to the curb anyway.  Turbo then lingered as though this deed merited a tip.  Banks grabbed his bag and stepped clear of the tipping radius.  Once he took the hint Turbo sheepishly retreated to his post behind the wheel.

As Banks sauntered towards the front desk he debated the merits of certain acts being deemed tip-worthy in today's society and some not.  Was Turbo's service truly tip worthy?  All he had really done is inconvenienced him with a moral dilemma of sorts.  The fry cook at McDonalds gets no tips regardless of how perfect his Big Mac is assembled, and yet a barista is deemed tip worthy for assembling the proper ingredients for a mocha latte?  A befuddled Banks got his room key and once he got to his room tossed aside his luggage and plopped on to his bed exhausted.  He let thoughts of purple rain, fry cooks and marigolds swirl around his head as he faded off into sleep.  It was going to be an interesting vacation.