Slide It In

I killed a forest last night. I didn’t mean to, but I did. Let me see if I can explain this, without looking like a complete fucktard. Wish me luck.

Some of you know me as a friend (sorry, ‘bout your luck), others as a writer. Some of you know me as a professional photographer, while others know me as the IT god, that I am. Some of you know me from my time in the music industry, or for my charity work (don’t judge me) and some of you don’t know me, at all. What most of you don’t know is this: I also have another profession at which I slave away. I work in the hospitality industry, which means that I work that job, for tips. This isn’t a post to bitch about that job or how cheap you fuckers are, just an introduction to something else that I do and other than this paragraph, only a brief mention of it in this story. It’s just a part of the setup. I’m glad that we’ve got that out of the way, aren’t you?

I was on my way home from work last night and I needed to stop at the ATM at my bank, to deposit enough cash to cover my car insurance, because it’s nice to have a car, insurance and a driver’s license. Wait a second. I have questions…

Yeah, I probably have explanations and tangents, too. Let’s explore and discuss.

1. Why does shit always seem to happen on my way home from work? It’s usually late at night and I just want to go home and go to bed, because I have to be up bright and early in the morning. You can forget that bright eyed and bushytailed bullshit. It’s a simple thing, right? Get in the car, drive home and go to bed. Any imbecile can accomplish that, right? Apparently, not this one. Shit always has to happen on my way home. Even tonight couldn’t be a normal night. What I thought was going to be a drunk driving checkpoint, turned out to be a downed power line. There were a hell of a lot of cops, though; you’d have thought it was a fucking donut convention, but putting sugar on shit don’t make it a donut, as my daddy used to say.

2. One of the things that I love about my bank is that their ATMs not only accept cash, but they count it and it is credited to your account, immediately and as a bonus, I don’t have to go inside or deal with an actual human being (that always tries to sell me shit I don’t need), which is fine by me, because I hate most human beings. I’ll bet you never would have guessed that. Another thing that I love about my bank is that they send me a daily reminder of just how poor I am. That’s pretty awesome. One of the things that I hate about my bank is that they confuse the hell out of me. I don’t know why, but I have like four zillion accounts. There’s primary checking, reserve checking, growth, and savings. Okay, maybe not exactly four zillion, but you get the picture. I just need two; checking and savings. The lady that explained this to me had the most unintelligible accent that I’ve ever heard and was so confusing, I asked her if she could put me on the phone to Chip, in Bangalore, because I thought he might do a better job of walking me through their Byzantine banking arrangements. She looked at me blankly; most people do. My level of sarcasm is so advanced, mortals think I’m stupid. Another thing that I hate about my bank is that the ATMs do not give out lollipops. That shit’s not right.

Okay, I think we’re good, for now. I’ll get to the forest part, in a minute. I need to scroll back, just to see what the hell I was ranting on about, anyway. Hold on for just a sec and I’ll sum things up for you.

I was on my way home from work and stopped at the ATM, to deposit money. Wow, look how far we made it into the story before I made you read all of that other shit. My bad. Look, it’s 4:00am, I’m still awake and I’ve had a lottle bit of whiskey. A lottle. It’s like a little, but a lot.

I pulled up to the ATM, like I have a hundred times before. I lean awkwardly over my door and fumble my card into the machine, sliding it in, just like always. Score two, for me. Hooray! Now, I just need to put in my PIN. Simple stuff, right? Nope. I can barely reach the keypad, but I figure that I can reach over just a little bit more and so my hand slips and I input the wrong number. No big deal, the ATM likes me; it gives me a second chance and this time I won’t be so lazy. I open the car door a little bit and I lean out a little bit more and it’s still not enough, so I stretch just a little bit more and I, well, I fell out of the fucking car. Okay, I didn’t really fall out of the car, but I could totally see it happening and I’m truly amazed that it didn’t. Plus, it would have been spectacular!

I managed to enter the correct PIN (batting .750, baby!), pressed all of the right buttons on the screen, but then my hand slipped again and I selected the wrong account. I had to cancel the transaction. The machine spat out a receipt. Why it gave me a receipt for a cancelled transaction, I guess I’ll never know.

That’s tree #1.

Time to start the whole process over and try to explain a little more. My car is a Saturn SC2; it sits very, very low to the ground. The bucket seats in the damn thing are so fucking low, my ass drags along the pavement. Don’t laugh, that’s how I brake. Kind of like a modern Fred Flintstone, but maybe not quite as cool, as he is. I can’t get out of the car, because I parked too close to the damn machine, and I can’t really open my door, all that much. I could have moved the car; that thought just occurred to me, but it didn’t last night. Look, I was tired. I use a lot of energy trying to appear to be too busy to deal with your petty ass. Being elitist and snotty wears a body. Who has time to fucking think, anyway? That shit’s overrated, if you ask me.               

So, I slide my card back in, enter the wrong PIN again, then enter the right PIN, press all the right buttons, toss in my cash and the machine spits it back out, telling me that I can only insert fifty bills, at a time. I only have two bills; one hundred dollars. Obviously, you don’t know what you’re talking about, so let’s try this again. I put the money back in and the machine counts it and accepts the cash. I just need to press the button and confirm it There are only two buttons; two simple choices. A monkey would have a 50% chance of getting it right. Not this monkey. My hand slipped again and I hit the No button on the screen. The machine spit the money out again. Then, it shot out another receipt.

Tree #2

Fer Fuck’s sake.

Card in; check. PIN entered, check. Hand slips again, check. This time, it’s a fast cash withdrawal and the machine spits out fifty dollars. Not quite what I was aiming for. I’m not usually like this. Usually, I’m very graceful. Like a ballerina. On crack. And meth.

Another receipt, for my growing collection. Tree three.

Wash, rinse, repeat. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Card in, PIN entered and deposit selected. I’m almost there. I’m so excited, I feel like a hooker on payday, outside a Navy base. Of course, I managed to screw it up again. That’s what I do best; break things and screw shit up. It’s a natural talent; not everyone can do it. I’m special. Very special. Don’t hate.

Tree #4, Five, six, seven and eight soon follow. Unfuckingbelievable. It’s really not this hard. It’s a fucking ATM, not quantum theory.

Try #9. I’m literally begging the machine; promising it anything. At this point, it can have my ass, if it wants it. I make it through all of the foreplay and then I throw in the cash, it spits it out. I put it in again, it spits it out again. In, out; in out; it’s almost like sex, just without the fun and I really don’t like the thought of having to pay for it, because I am not seeing a happy ending, in my future.

One more tree. That’s nine. One last try and then I’m giving up.

The tenth try goes flawlessly and leaves me with one last receipt. That’s tree #10.

I look at the Death Star sized wad of paper in my hand and toss it in the trash receptacle that was so thoughtfully provided. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a forest, but it was still a shit ton of paper. Don’t know what a shit ton is? It’s a metric measure of volume. Maybe you should have paid attention in school, instead of playing with yourself. You should know this shit, you know?

Time to head home and it is smooth sailing, all the way there. I park the car, lock it and then unlock it to get the things that I forgot to take with me and then I have to do it again, because I forgot some other shit, too. Sometimes, I forget shit, okay?

“It’s okay,” I tell myself, “I’ll be safe in ten seconds. I just need to make it in the door, just a few more feet…”

My roommate locked the storm door.

Fuck me….