"A recent influx of coolness into the business requires that I ask you to remove your hat and sunglasses, sir," says the young woman behind the counter. Dressed in a fitted white skirt and a tailored black jacket, she looks less like a bank teller and more like a candidate for local office.
"Excuse me?" you ask.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," she says. "You see - this building was only built to withstand a certain amount of Relative Awesomeness Directional Synapses (or RADS), which I'm certain you'll recognize as the Imperial measurement for coolness." If you were at all perceptive, you would see she was doing her best to hold back a snicker. You are not.
"Yes, of course," you lie.
"Well, this structure is only rated for two hundred RADS. Your little hat that makes it look like a fish is sticking out of your head that only one heavily-surveilled shop in town sells anymore is emitting two hundred and five by itself. Add that to the extra twenty emitted by those orange plastic sunglasses you caught at the Krewe of Jupiter parade last year, and we're looking at a critical systems failure."
"Oh my," you say, removing your hat and glasses at once. You didn't really want to rob the bank anyway.