The bell above Mooney’s Mart jingled, announcing the arrival of a man who looked like he’d lost a fight with a scarecrow. Earl shuffled in, his ill-fitting ski mask slipping precariously over his nose. He clutched a dented water pistol, painted a menacing (but unconvincing) black.
“Alright, everybody freeze!” Earl squeaked, his voice cracking mid-command.
Behind the counter, Mrs. Mooney, a woman whose wrinkles told tales of countless bingo nights and expertly judged bridge hands, barely batted an eye. She continued scanning a magazine, her lips moving silently as she tracked the potential winnings.
Earl cleared his throat. “I said, FREEZE! This…this is a robbery!”
Suddenly, click…click…click. A rhythmic, irritating sound reverberated through the tiny store.
Earl flinched. “What was that?!” He whipped around, eyes darting nervously. “Who’s there?”
Silence, save for the incessant click…click…click.
Earl whirled back to Mrs. Mooney. “Don’t you dare call the cops!”
Click…click…click. Louder this time.
Earl groaned. “Okay, okay, just… just tell me what that noise is first!” He pointed the water pistol vaguely towards the ceiling.
Mrs. Mooney finally looked up, her expression one of profound boredom. “That’d be the fan, dear. Been making that noise for weeks. Mr. Mooney’s supposed to fix it.” She sighed, returning to her magazine. “Said he would, anyway.”
Earl lowered the water pistol. “The… the fan?”
Click…click…click.
He swallowed hard. “Right. The fan. Well, never you mind the fan! Just give me all the money in the register!”
Mrs. Mooney arched a skeptical eyebrow. “All of it? Really? Even the quarters? You know I need those for the gumball machine.”
Earl squeezed his eyes shut. “Just…just give me the bills! The big ones!”
Click…click…click.
Earl spun around again, hands flying to his ears. “I CAN’T HEAR MYSELF THINK! IS ANYONE ELSE HEARING THIS?”
A young boy browsing the candy aisle looked up, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah. Kinda annoying, actually.”
Earl threw his hands up in the air. “ANNOYING? IT’S DRIVING ME INSANE! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO ROB A PLACE WITH THAT THING GOING ON?”
He slumped against a shelf stocked with canned peaches, the water pistol dangling limply.
Mrs. Mooney sighed dramatically. “Look, dear, why don’t you just come back tomorrow? Mr. Mooney usually putzes around with that fan on Tuesdays. Maybe he’ll fix it.”
Earl considered this. He looked at the dented water pistol, then at Mrs. Mooney’s unimpressed face, then back up at the offending fan.
Click…click…click.
“You know what?” He said, pulling the ski mask higher on his forehead. “You’re right. This…this is just bad timing. I’ll be back.”
He mumbled an apology to the kid in the candy aisle and shuffled out of Mooney’s Mart, the bell jingling merrily as he went. Mrs. Mooney watched him go, then shook her head and returned to her magazine.
Click…click…click. The fan continued its relentless rhythm, a testament to Earl’s hapless attempt at a life of crime, and Mr. Mooney’s equally hapless attempts at home repair. He just needed to pick a good Tuesday.
Leave a Reply