So, this deer walks into a bank...

I am from a small town. We pride ourselves as being rural. The deer population prides itself on being rather urban.

I'm on the phone with my dad, and in the background I hear this: "Tell her about the deer running through the bank!"

"Dad, I don't understand what that means."

As a buck wandered down Auglaize St. in Historic Downtown Wapakoneta, Ohio, he gazed into the windows of various antique malls and second-hand stores. The blown glass and musty books didn't do much for him. Nor did the E-bay store's leg lamp collection. When he reached the black glass of Fifth Third Bank, things changed.

The bank teller sat at her stool, counting out quarters and changing them into 5's and 10's for customer after customer. They were hard of hearing. Her voice was raspy from the repetition. She was bored. When the deer crashed through the glass, things changed.

My father told me this like it was commonplace. (Of course, he was the same when the ostrich, donkey and ligers were known to be in the area as well--all on separate occasions.) No one is sure if the deer was charging at a peer interfering with his window shopping, or if he was lunging at an unsuspecting doe. I am unsure how the deer got out of the bank. Dad didn't think this part was important enough to tell. He switched began telling me about the 6'x6' carpet a neighbor gave him for our living room. It should be flat after a few days hanging up in the attic.