A festive recounting of a completely botched holiday heist, blending the spirit of "Ocean's 11" with the competence of "Home Alone."

The Festive Felon: A (Mostly) True Tale of Christmas Cash & Caffeine

The bank was robbed. The money flew. A Santa was born. And it all ended at Starbucks. This is the holiday heist story too beautifully dumb to be anything but real.

Prologue: The Eye-Witness Account Conundrum 👁️🤔

Let's get one thing straight before we begin: nobody agrees on what happened. The police report is dry. The news articles are factual. But the witnesses? The people who were there, standing in line to deposit a check or withdraw $40 for a last-minute fruitcake? Their stories are where the magic lives.

One says the robber had a flowing white beard. Another insists it was a cheap costume beard, the kind that attaches with elastic and smells like regret. Someone swears he shouted "Merry Christmas!"; another is certain it was "Happy Holidays!" (a detail that, in its own way, feels like the most modern crime of all).

So what follows is not just the news. It's the legend. It's the story as it should have happened, pieced together from the chaotic, beautiful, and profoundly human act of people trying to explain the unexplainable: a man who tried to pay for his sins with a holiday bonus.

Act I: The Grinch Who Wanted to Give (Just With Someone Else's Money) 🎄💸

Our story begins not in a den of thieves, but in the soul-crushing fluorescent glow of a Colorado bank, two days before Christmas. The air is thick with the scent of cheap pine air freshener and quiet despair.

Enter our protagonist—let's call him David. David is not a criminal mastermind. A criminal mastermind has a plan, a crew, an escape route to a non-extradition country. David has a vibe. And that vibe is "desperate to feel festive."

He approaches the teller. He does not brandish a gun. He brandishes something far more powerful: awkward eye contact and a palpable aura of poor decision-making. He passes a note. The note, according to the legend, did not say "Give me all the money." It said something closer to: "I'm having a bit of a Yule-tide emergency. Can you help a fellow out? Also, you have lovely teller windows. Very seasonal."

The teller, a woman named Linda who had already mentally checked out for eggnog, sighed the sigh of a public servant who has seen it all. She handed over the cash. Not out of fear, but out of a desire to see where this was going. She was an audience member now. We all were.

Act II: The One-Man, Economically Devastating Parade 🎪✨

This is the moment. The pivot. The scene that separates this story from all other bank robberies.

David gets the money. He turns to face the lobby. He sees a mother with a wide-eyed toddler. He sees an old man leaning on a cane. He sees a lineup of people whose greatest excitement that day was supposed to be getting a transaction fee waived.

And something in his heart—or more likely, in the panicked lizard part of his brain—snaps into the spirit of the season.

He doesn't run. He doesn't hide. He reaches into the bag, pulls out a fistful of bills, and hurls them into the air like human confetti. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY!" he bellows.

Chaos. Beautiful, hilarious, papery chaos.

For a single, glorious minute, the FirstBank of Denver was not a financial institution. It was Santa's Grotto of Questionable Choices. Grown adults scrambled for $20s like they were the last Cabbage Patch Kids on Earth. The toddler started crying, not from fear, but because he wanted the "pretty paper." Security guards stood frozen, unsure if they should tackle him or join in. David wasn't fleeing a crime scene; he was conducting the world's worst-funded, most illegal holiday parade. He went from suspect to spectacle, from robber to rogue philanthropist, in the time it takes for a dollar bill to flutter to the floor.

Act III: The Getaway to Nowhere (Latte Included) ☕🚔

Every great performance needs an exit. And David's was a masterpiece of anti-climax.

His brilliant escape plan? To walk 100 yards down the street and sit in a Starbucks. Not to change his clothes in the bathroom. Not to use their Wi-Fi to book a one-way ticket to Belize. To order a drink. To blend in.

Let's picture the scene. He walks in, the adrenaline (and insanity) still buzzing. The barista smiles. "What can I get started for you?"

David, with the weight of federal charges and holiday spirit upon him, likely said: "A Venti Peppermint Mocha, please. Extra whip. It's been a day."

He paid. With the marked bills from the bank. He might as well have stamped "ROBBERY PROCEEDS" on each one in red ink.

He sat down. He sipped his mocha. He waited. For what? For the spirit of Christmas to legally absolve him? For the police to recognize his charitable redistribution efforts? We'll never know. What we do know is that the officers who calmly walked in and arrested him found a man who was less a fugitive and more a very confused, slightly caffeinated Santa. The jingle bells weren't on his sleeves; they were ringing in the hollow chamber of his plan.

Act IV: The "What If" Machine: Alternative Holiday Endings 🤖🎁

What if he’d used Christmas lights as a restraint? "You're not under arrest, sir, you're 'festively detained.'"

What if his demand note was written on the back of a child's letter to Santa? "Forensics wept. And then added 'forgery' to the charges."

What if the bank's security guard was dressed as an elf? "The takedown report would have read: 'Subject was subdued by a member of the North Pole's Special Festive Task Force.'"

What if he’d invested the money? "Your honor, while my client did procure the seed capital unconventionally, his portfolio is now yielding a very merry 7% annual return."

Act V: A Rhyming Recap (A Criminal's Canticle) 🎤

'Twas two days 'fore Christmas, in a Colorado bank, Not a creature was stirring, till morale sank. A man with a note, and a plan quite absurd, Spoke the words that the anxious bank teller heard:

"I require your currency, stacked in a sack, For I'm spreading some cheer, and not coming back!" She handed it over, with a roll of her eyes, As he shifted his weight and told festive lies.

He turned to the crowd, in the lobby so grand, With a bag full of money clutched tight in his hand. He threw it all skyward, a green paper snow, And yelled for the season as greenbacks did flow!

"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL! AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!" Then he walked out the door and out of their sight. But his genius escape, it was tragically flawed, He went for a coffee, which left the cops awed.

They found him quite calmly, just sipping away, And they took him to jail at the end of the day. So let this tale warn you, wherever you are: True holiday spirit can't fit in a car. And if you feel tempted by larcenous glee, Just get a damn latte. And leave the bank be.

Epilogue: The Moral, Wrapped in Ironic Bows 🎀

What do we learn from David, the Festive Felon? That the line between a crime spree and a charity event is about 30 seconds of poor impulse control. That the only thing you should be "laundering" at Christmas is your ugly sweater. And that if you feel an unstoppable urge to throw money at strangers, there are better venues than a bank lobby. Try a charity. Or a strip club. At least there, it's expected.

His was a holiday wish born of chaos, delivered with confusion, and paid for with freedom. It was the most expensive, least practical Christmas gift ever given. And in its own beautifully stupid way, it was kind of magical.

He didn't steal Christmas. He just tried to finance it with someone else's money. And really, in the grand capitalist nightmare of the holidays, isn't that the most traditional move of all?

Just sipping my coffee and not robbing banks, Allen FriedReads.com | @Allen_Fried

Read the less-fun-but-actual-news versions:

• BBC: US bank robber throws stolen cash in air shouting 'Merry Christmas'
• CBS News: Bank robber tosses cash in the air saying 'Merry Christmas'
• CNN: A bank robber threw cash in the air and yelled 'Merry Christmas'
• Reuters: Colorado bank robber throws cash in air shouting 'Merry Christmas'
• The Independent: Man robs bank then throws money in air shouting 'Merry Christmas'

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