Tropical Heist

The Trigger

Growing up, I was a huge fan of heist films, they were basically the "Cowboys & Indians" of our generation. As much as I loved watching them, and sometimes pondered what it would be like to plan a high level heist, daydreaming of the large stacks of cash, the thrill of evading the police and hearing about how daring and elaborate it was on the news later that evening, I was never fond of the idea of crime. You see, I was an event planner, a very meticulous one at that, and if I am being 100% honest, a heist to me was nothing more than that; an event that needed to be planned with extreme precision, with little to no room for error.

 This plays over in my mind as I look into the eyes of what appears to be maybe a 60 year-old woman. Her thin silver hair falls into her face, unfortunately not far enough to hide her eyes which are now filled with tears. The wrinkles on her face, aren't those of father time, but from that of fear. I could hear the rest of the team barking orders at the rest of the floor as I tried to break eye contact. How did I end up here, terrifying a woman who could be my mother? "She's maybe someone else's grandmother," I thought as I could now feel the weight of the gun in my outstretched arm.

A year ago if you told me that I would be standing in the lobby of the campus bank pointing a SIG at a tanty, I wouldn't only deny the possibility, I would laugh. I have spent my entire adult life supporting the anti-gun/gun control agenda. 2012 when I made the move to Trinidad to attend Vet School, I knew it would be heavy on my parents, but I think we all grossly underestimated how hard it would have been. I love dogs and all, but I had no idea trying to become a dog doctor would be so difficult. I tried working a few student jobs but they just didn't cut it. At a ceiling of TT$20 per hour at a maximum of 20 hours per week, it helps but it doesn't do much. I was fortunate enough to work a few side hustles, a little freelance photography here and some deejaying gigs there, which fared far better than the student jobs but it was either you got paid extremely late or not at all. Had I known back then what I know now, I would have probably just opted to be a barber or something.  It's far less school time, and besides who doesn't need a good haircut? 

Finding the tuition was one thing, but meeting the deadlines was the real challenge, and how could I forget the living expenses. . As a student, owing money to the University is like a capital offence. You're cut off from all the resources. You can't access the library, you can't logon to the student portal to complete assignments, you can't check your grades and the list goes on. This is multiplied even further when you're in a foreign country with over 1100 miles of sea separating you from home. It's something I would want for no one to experience.

About three months ago, I went into the bank on campus to cash a cheque and make a payment to the university. It was one of those large chain banks, but this branch was like a Mom-And-Pop bank. It was very small and cluttered, with a single security guard who acted more like a floor attendant, greeting every one that entered the bank. As I stood in line I did what I do every time I went the bank, I noted the time, the number of people present, identified all the cameras, and mapped the seating arrangements of all the staff present. A loud beep echoed throughout the banking hall as the automated system rang out, "Next customer to counter three." 

I greeted the teller and gave her the cheque, my passport and the deposit slip and continued gazing around for anymore information that would be helpful. 

"Sir, I am sorry we cannot process this cheque,"  she said as my attention now turned from my imaginary recon mission. 

"What? Why not?" I asked in disbelief, even though I knew the answer. 

This was the second time in as many weeks that I got shafted with a cheque. Her words were now really just gibberish, my mind was no longer focused on her. I could only think about my financial standing with the University and how negatively this bounced cheque would affect me. Before she could finish explaining I thanked her, took my belongings and trudged toward the door.

Every time I went into this bank I did the same thing, I plotted what I thought to be an almost fool-proof heist. All the scenarios and possible outcomes would linger in my head for a few minutes, at most maybe an hour and then I could forget them. Today however, was different, I don't know if it was the bounced cheque and the imminent lock out from all the university services, or I just grew more confident after each trip to the bank that this could work.

There was certainly a hunger deep down now, a fire was lit and the cogs in my head just would not stop turning. Maybe I was just one of the weak ones, but that moment, the moment the bank teller uttered those words, it flipped a switch. I was going to do this.