I was on my way to some kind of epic music festival. I think it was free, but I decided to stop by the bank to get some money just in case I needed it. I walked in and headed straight to the ATM to take out, I don’t know, probably twenty dollars or so. That’s what I would’ve selected on the screen. But when I put my left hand out to grab it, more cash started coming out; a lot more. I just stood there, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible as bills; twenties, fifties, hundreds, thousands; layered in a stack that was becoming increasingly harder to manage in a single palm. I think I started using both hands.

I knew something was seriously wrong, or seriously right, that I hadn’t just inadvertently emptied my bank account, because it was much more money than I had in my account. I wasn’t counting, but, just glancing down every few seconds and seeing all those thousand-dollar bills, I figured it had to be close to a hundred thousand; enough to make me, as far as the empty history of my pockets were concerned, rich. I noticed the screen had some sort of short letter-number code displayed on it, perhaps an error message, as I became more and more nervous. Was anyone watching me? I didn’t know. Finally it stopped.

I figured the cameras were watching. There was probably one right there on the front of the ATM, getting a clear close-up of my face. Plus I’d inserted my card and typed-in my password. But I didn’t care, not enough to walk over to a human teller and explain what just happened. I was taking the money, that much I knew, at the risk of spending years in prison. It was a risk I was willing to take. Besides, I figured, they might never realize what happened. So I slid the money into my pocket, or pockets, and, after spending way too much time making sure the machine was reset to begin another customer, I walked out.

2012 December 26