Moments ago, a group of armed militants burst into this bank. One jumped onto the teller’s counter and another told all of us to get on the floor. I should be terrified. I really should. I should think of my family. I should think of the danger we’re all in. But, all I can think about is how this robber’s fly is down.

“Anyone who tries to be a hero will be executed,” he yells, but he couldn’t even execute the task of closing his fly this morning. Did he just come from the bathroom? Does this mean he didn’t wash his hands either? What kind of crew is this?

Was it like that at the hideout and in the getaway car coming here, and no one told him? Oof. No one must like this guy. Frankly, I don’t think I like him either. Not a single friend in this room.

“We’re going to be here a while. Does anyone have anything we should know? Any heart conditions?” Yes. There’s something you should know: YOUR FLY IS DOWN! Why doesn’t anyone tell you?! I mean I’m not going to tell that to a man with a gun pointed at me, but someone should.

Anyway, the moment has passed. It’d just be awkward now. This is like one of my recurring nightmares about public speaking where I have something on my face. If we told him, he’d just think we were all laughing at him because we let it go on so long.

We kind of are laughing at him, though. Well, at least I am. A rifle, a walkie-talkie, and two bandoleers, but he didn’t remember to zip up his fly? What were this guy’s priorities this morning?

Wait. Is he wearing tan underwear, or is he naked under there?

Oh God, what if his dick falls out during this robbery?! I don’t want to be held hostage by someone careless enough to flop out during a big score.

If it does though, do criminals have big or small dicks, I wonder.

Well, size doesn’t make someone a criminal. Obviously, a criminal is a product of economic circumstances more than anything. Home life too. But that doesn’t mean it can’t start the fuse that leads to maybe anger issues, entitlement, juvenile halls, and robbing banks with his fly down.

Stop. STOP. None of this matters. The real question is who the hell doesn’t wear underwear to a robbery? I mean, it’s the biggest day of your life. Why take chances? That can only mean this guy is a real live-wire. He could have a death wish or worse.

I’ve gotta look away from his crotch, or he’ll kill us all. I think I’m looking away, but I can feel my eyes being drawn back to look at it like a solar eclipse or inappropriate cleavage on a person shorter than you.

Uh-oh. The woman standing on the counter noticed. She’s looking at me. She’s looking at him. Back and forth.

This is it. I’m going to die here on this marble floor, shot by a commando going commando. All because Becky needed rolls of quarters. Shouldn’t a manager do bank runs? Shouldn’t they have practiced for this? Shouldn’t they have dress rehearsals? They’re clearly not prepared! Why do we have to die because they’re not professionals?

I don’t want to die here while I still have Amazon packages being delivered to me later today. I mean, all the hostages are properly dressed. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, I tell you!!

Hold on, the woman on the counter is motioning to him. He’s looking down. He’s reaching down, and… he’s zipping it up.

Oh thank goodness, we’re all saved!