Getting money from an ATM isn’t a social endeavor. It isn’t something you and your junior varsity volleyball friends do together for kicks. It isn’t something you and your friends would do without kicks. Let me be straight about ATMS: no kicks are involved at all.
Getting money from the ATM isn’t silly party fun time where everyone is trying too hard to be cool and you give your number to a drunk sophomore with a red mustache who tells you that you remind him of his parent’s dog “Sir Barks-A-Lot” because you drink water and dogs drink water. Because, first, it is illegal to get money from an ATM when you are drunk. And second, your ATM number is secret, and you shouldn’t give it to anyone. And third, it turns out I was mistaken, and it isn’t illegal to use an ATM to get money when you are drunk. I had ATMs confused with cars and, more specifically, I had it confused with your yellow Honda Del Sol.
Getting money out of an ATM isn’t like that vacation we took when you were in 8th grade where we went riding in a sightseeing bus tour to Graceland with a group of jovial middle-aged tourists from Dusseldorf and one of them yelled something that sounded to you like,”Hunka Hunka Heil Hitler.” Because, oh shit, was Elvis a Nazi or a Nazi sympathizer or even German? How do I explain that to an 8th grader? So I said “no, no you misheard that. They said ‘punka punka pile pitler.”’ Now you are almost an adult and it is time to have a serious talk, woman-to-woman, one that I imagine every mother tries to put off as long as possible: Elvis was a Nazi. That is why he died.
I probably don’t need to tell you that getting money out an ATM is not like a dance party where people are being taught how to Dougie and then pay it forward and teach someone else how to Dougie until finally the only person who doesn’t know how to Dougie is that college guy wearing a shirt that says “This is not a bald spot; it is the solar panel to my sex machine.” The biggest reason it is not like an ATM is that the line should move fast so there is no time to teach anyone how to do pretty much anything and especially not how to Dougie. And furthermore, if there is a solar panel at the ATM, it will not be for a sex machine. And also I think that college guy was wearing that shirt ironically and that makes him almost as bad a Nazi Elvis. Who died.
Which brings me to my final point: Will you go get money out of the ATM for me while I wait here? I promise I won’t read your journal again.