“ATM”
Feb 18, 2020Jimmy sucks down the last of his Gansett and slams the glass on the table. A few people look over at him, and he glares at them. He didn’t mean to make a scene. He’s just at that point in his night.
“What?” he says, and the people staring at him turn back to their previous conversations.
Jimmy is all out of cash at a cash-only bar. He walks to the back of the bar where an ATM sits in a dark corner, covered in dust, giving Jimmy the puppy dog eyes.
“Jimmy, don’t you love me?” asks the ATM.
Jimmy sighs. “You know I do,” he says.
“Then why don’t you give me what I want so I can give you what you want?”
“Because I just can’t afford you tonight.”
The ATM’s glow dims a bit. It’s sad to not get the attention it wants.
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy says. “I’ve really gotten myself into a pickle.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” asks the ATM.
Jimmy sits down on an old Victorian couch. It’s much softer than he thought it would be. Dust rises up and settles on his black jeans.
“I just don’t know what I’m doing,” Jimmy says.
The ATM glows again, attentive. Jimmy notices and gets a sense that the machine really cares.
“I want more of what’s inside you,” Jimmy continues, “but I haven’t done a good job of maintaining a healthy dose of reality.”
“I’ve seen this a million times before,” the ATM says. “I’ve seen strong men weep staring at me, wondering if they should continue talking to me.”
Jimmy sighs again.
“What did you tell those men?” Jimmy asks.
“I told them to give me their credit cards so I could make them happy,” says the ATM.
“And, did it work?” asks Jimmy.
“It works 90 percent of the time.”
“What about the other 10 percent?”
“Those men saunter out and I see them again the next time. No big deal.”
“You’re not much help with existential crises, are you?”
“Not really. I’m just here for a good time.”
“Well, so am I.”
“But there’s a price to pay, Jimmy. There’s always a price.”
Jimmy sighs. “I know, and I just can’t afford the fees tonight.”
“Then leave . . . get out of here. And come back tomorrow night when you can afford to talk to me.”
Jimmy gets up. He brushes the dust off his pants.
“Thanks, ATM. I’ll see you tomorrow”
“Bye, Jimmy. See you tomorrow.”