Reflections of an ATM Machine

A Parable

“Man at ATM Machine,” from Wikimedia Commons

I am an ATM machine. I sit on the sidewalk, leaning against a Walgreens, all day. Some people rob me. Others curse at me. People walk by me without so much as a nod. So, I’m an ATM machine.

Well, I’m not exactly an ATM machine. People give me money and I give them credit—kind of the opposite of an ATM machine. That’s how ATM machines work, right? Cash for credit? I haven’t used an ATM machine recently—I am one, after all. I like to not objectify other ATM machines. I’m old-fashioned.

Coins clatter into my “Big Gulp” cup. Cash.

Now, the credit. “God bless you, thank you, ma’am.”

Thinking of it like an ATM machine’s job makes it feel nice. Like I’m doing a job. A special job. I give credit for money. What kind of credit? That’s the tricky bit. Can’t quite put my finger on what the credit “is,” but I like to pass the time by guessing how they use it.

Here comes a woman. A bit frazzled. A smidgen of crazy.

Clink, clink.

I’ll play the game: What will she use the credit for? She’s going to drink a whole bottle of wine tonight. “I’m really nothing like my mom. I’m a good person. Good people taking the edge off and that alcoholic hag are two totally different things.” As if people said things like that out loud. But it runs around in their head.

Too easy.

“Spare change, sir?”

Sometimes, I surprise myself. Right out of a movie. If only I were a dirty British orphan in rags and not an ATM machine. He passes by. Doesn’t need the credit. Lots of people pass by. Too many to count. You’d think an ATM machine would be good at counting.

~

Here comes a potential. Ahh. This one’s on, hook, line, and—No, no, I’m not a fisherman today. I’m an ATM machine. But here he comes anyway. He’s not going to make eye contact until the last second, but he’s veering over here, shifting his hand around in his pocket, making it seem like it’s a last-second decision.

No wonder. It’s a fiver! Fiver. I heard that from a British chap once. I wonder how he’s doing—no, I remember, he died. Poor ol’ chap. I wonder if ATM machines have lingo. Ones and zeros probably don’t lend themselves to lingo or dialects.

I can’t really control how much credit they get, I suppose, but I figure a fiver’s a lot. Now, the game, yes. Slicked back hair but a noticeable bald spot. Decent suit, but a little too big. Cheating. He’ll probably have a little fling. I’ll hold out. If he comes back and drops another fiver next week, I’ll know it’s not a fling but a full-fledged affair.

My eyes are like a hawk’s.

No.

I’m an ATM machine today. Stay focused. These people aren’t paying you for nothing.

Coins clatter.

“God bless.” Getting lazy, huh? Do ATM machines get lazy?

It’s not Karma. That’s not the credit they’re getting. Isn’t Credit Karma a thing? It would be trademarked, and I couldn’t use it anyway. So, it’s not Karma. And, side note but important, other ATM machines aren’t in their situation because of Karma. Non-ATM machines who think we’re all crazy, or lazy, or druggies are full of BS.

They’re just unlucky. I’m not unlucky. I deserve what I’m getting. I want to be an ATM machine. Today, I do, anyway.

My ATM machine credit isn’t written down on any records anywhere. There’s no data on it in the Cloud. It’s my job to dispense it, but it’s not really regulated.

Being an ATM machine is such a good one. How can I top it tomorrow?

~

Black robes. A white collar.

I love it whenever priests walk by—a rare treat. One might think they’d speed up when they don’t put money in. But no, they slow down. “I know about these things, about helping ATM machines. I don’t need to always do it.” Or better yet, “I help ATM machines through a special ATM machine program. Putting money in isn’t really the best way to help them.”

If they do drop money in, they do so smoothly, precisely, as though they’ve done countless times. As though they’ve gone to seminary and taken a course titled, “Putting money into ATM machine’s cups 3201.” It’s an upper-level course.

He passes by. Slowly, deliberately, as I thought.

That’s it. ATM machine today. Tomorrow, a priest.

Why? Indulgences, of course. I don’t remember exactly what indulgences are. But that sounds right. Money for credit. I wonder if they still do those?

I am an ATM machine today. I’ll be a priest tomorrow.