Last night, at around midnight, I decided to go to the bank. This is not unusual for me considering I have multiple bank accounts for multiple purposes. If I had my druthers, I’d keep all my money in one master account, but my accountant strenuously insists that I remain somewhat organized. Since I pay him good money for advice, I grudgingly follow it. Unfortunately this usually means I cannot visit an ATM machine without a gang bang-esque line forming behind me as I fumble around completing a long list of transactions. To circumvent this, I usually wait to stealthily visit the ATM late at night. Like a ninja.
Granted, most people would just complete their bank transactions without worrying a bit about the line forming behind them. However, most people are not half the neurotic mess of a person that I am. I can’t stand the idea that I might inadvertently hold someone up by acting like clumsy senile retard. I am the type of person who, if someone steps in line behind me at the grocery store, will panic and scoop my change up into my fucking shirt in a mad dash to move out of the way as quickly as possible. Coupons? Store card discount? Purse not closed yet? Fuck it all! There’s someone behind me!
So you can all imagine my dismay last night when I noticed a car rounding the corner of the bank parking lot in order to get in line behind me at the ATM. My heart dropped down to my stomach as I frantically tried to complete a least one more bank transaction. Unfortunately, the last transaction was a deposit and those machines only suck the envelopes in at one excruciatingly slow speed.
As the woman in the car pulled up behind me, I heard her say, “OH COME ON!” Obviously, she was perturbed that I was in line ahead of her.
At first I blushed and ducked my head. Then I thought to myself: What the fuck? It’s not like I can instantly disappear!
Then, I started to get angry. I mean, here I was, cutting my trip to the ATM short only because I was over worried about her time…and she couldn’t even give me five fucking seconds to retrieve my card from the machine? Well, if that’s the way she was going to be, fuck her.
Furious, I screamed at her, “I will wait here all night if you’re going to be a BITCH about it!”
At first, silence was her only reply.
Then an equally angry voice yelled back, “If you don’t move right now, I’ll call the police!”
The first thought that entered my mind was surely (surely!) the police had better things to do than mediate an argument over a fucking ATM machine. But then I considered the town I live in and it slowly dawned on me that there is no way in Hell the police had anything better to do than hassle me at the request of the Impatient Bitch behind me.
So I did the only thing I could do in that situation. I got my card from the ATM and pulled away, head hung low, like a beaten puppy.
HA! You all don’t know me very well, do you?
I could no more walk away from a confrontation like that than I could swallow an apple whole. I just don’t have the physical capability.
Instead, I reached into my center counsel, grabbed a switchblade, and jumped out of my car. Then, I rammed the blade directly into my own car tire. It started losing air immediately. The woman, who was watching me via the light above the ATM machine, looked stunned.
“Go ahead and call them,” I curtly insisted, “I couldn’t move my car now even if I wanted to. And I need some help with this flat tire anyway.”
“I can’t…believe…you just…” she stuttered. Then perhaps considering the late hour and the fact that I was obviously unhinged, she started her car and pulled away without completing her sentence.
I watched her drive away, triumphant.
Of course, my victory was short lived. After all, I had just stranded myself at the bank with a flat tire. And no spare.
Putting my head in my hands, I thought to myself: V, for once in your entire miserable pathetic excuse for a life can you refrain from cutting off your own nose to spite someone else’s face?
The truth is I don’t think I can.
Oh well. At least I was able to finish my bank transactions in peace.
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