sermon on the dismount

This is what happens. You see, I’m standing at the ATM, urinal-like, you know? And the screen’s filling up with stuff about my transaction processing. I’m just kind of absently gawking at it. Not really reading the words, but looking at them, standing around, biding my time, swaying back and forth, trying to whistle too, waiting for my cash to be dispensed. And then the screen goes blank for a sec. No biggie, right? Yeah. But then, get this, the screen suddenly reads: “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, BUDDY.” I’m like, wha…? You know? So, I like rub my eyes and then gander on back at the screen. It’s still there, the same thing. Well, you know, I’m thinking, ‘It’s sort of true sometimes. I can be a bit of an a-hole. But how the hell does this machine know that I’m an asshole?’ I mean, I haven’t even been standing there that long. Can it like sense my asshole-ness? Well, let me just say too, that it’s not all that I am; I’m not a complete asshole. That’d be different. The ATM could probably pick up on that right away. No prob. I could see that. But my asshole percentage has got to be--and I’m trying to be as honest as possible here--right around like 20 to 25 or so, on a bad day. Maybe it’s something about how I insert my card into its slot, or the way I’m super impatient and talking shit about the ATM as I wait for that twirling/blinking image of “PROCESSING” to go away. Not that I’m being like a big-time dick about it. It’s nothing over the top. Just the usual cussing and fucking around that goes on when dealing with inanimate things taking up my valuable time, you know? Nothing to write home about. So, I’m shocked, to say the least, and kind of just gaping at the screen, waiting for my eyes to unscramble and maybe realize that it’s just a mild hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and a lousy diet. Plus, I’m prone to see odd things where most folks just see ordinary-type stuff. I once was convinced that the guy in those Gieco commercials was speaking to me through the TV. Also, I have many times tried to place a delivery order for Chinese food at a steak house. It seems there are certain things I just don’t understand in the way most people do. I’ve been told that I, “just don’t get it.” This may be true in some situations, but I get by okay; and, I’m not really that big of an asshole. Just a small-to-medium sized one, really. Ask anybody? But the screen doesn’t change. The letters are red and bold: “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, BUDDY.” Buddy? I mean, that just about bowled me over. Was it trying to make me seem like even more of an asshole by being nice about it? Jesus, demoralized by an ATM. My life was in serious need of some reevaluation. I’m in shock, though, you know? And I start to sort of look around, checking to see if some joker’s hiding around the corner with an iPhone recording this whole scene, like some Candid-Camera/Punk’d nonsense. But that seemed iffy. I mean, it wouldn’t be that funny of a prank. And it seemed like way too much effort to go through just to “punk” me, somebody who is not famous at all; and anyway, there’s a boatload of better stuff they could’ve done, like making the machine talk back to me, cussing up a storm in a Stephen Hawking voice. That’d be somewhat entertaining at least. But this? I don’t know. It was just weird. Didn’t seem too entertaining to watch some ordinary doofus just kind of act a little bewildered at a message on the screen of an ATM. Not much of a payoff, really. So, well, I just sort of stood there and waited for the message to go away. But it kept not going away. And the damn ATM is not dispensing my cash. It’s not doing anything, not making a sound. Not one tiny ATM gear is turning in there. Nothing. I’m fucking floored. Like, what the fuck, you know? Just because I’m sort of a small-time a-hole sometimes, well, that shouldn’t preclude my ability to obtain some cash from a goddamn ATM, right? I’ve seen much bigger assholes than myself use ATMs with no problem. And, to top it off, of course, my fucking debit card is stuck in this righteous beast of an ATM, and it ain’t spitting it back out to me, so it seems, any time soon. So I’m standing there, cardless, cashless, unable to leave and pissed off; and this fucking ATM is blaring in all caps, big and red: “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, BUDDY.” I was not having an enjoyable time. It was a cold night. I wasn’t dressed to be out in it for very long. I thought I’d just run a quick errand or two and head home, and so was just wearing like a thin sweater. So, I’m like shivering and performing the straight-jacket pose there in front of the ATM, shaking my head, and, well, kind of feeling at this point, well, embarrassed about the whole scene. I’m an asshole. Okay. So what? What business is it of some money-dispensing device to butt on into my affairs and try to make me feel bad about what a jerk I can be on occasion? And wasn’t this ATM behaving rather asshole-ish anyway, calling me names and making me wait a fucking eternity for my money? And yes, that’s right: my money. It was mine. I had a right to it, right? How’s that being an asshole? I’m like, “Give me my fucking money you goddamn dickhead computer.” It’s not like I was robbing the thing. You’re an asshole, buddy. Hell of a note, you know? Shit. And I’m freezing my ass off, standing there like a complete fucking moron, waiting for this like electric surge or technical glitch or whatever to be over with so I can like jet and get on with my fucking life. So, I notice there’s this phone number on the ATM that it says to call if you’re having any trouble with the machine. I get out my phone and dial it up. I mean, I think the machine calling me names while not giving me my money or my card back qualifies as trouble. It rings for a long time, and then goes to a recording. I’m like, oh shit, not this. This breaking-up voice is droning on about, “If you are having service issues with any of our network ATMs outside of your qualified service area, please hang up and dial 1-888-918-2400. If your call is concerning the restrictions placed on your balance, or if you feel you have reached this recording in error, please stay on the line and one of our agents will be on the line shortly to offer assistance.” It just kept repeating more of that same crap, and then the damn phone starts beeping at me and the line goes dead. Nice. Real nice. And this whole while the ATM’s blinking that same damn all caps message at me: “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, BUDDY.” I’m like, “Oh, holy shit. This is so fucked up.” But there’s nothing I can do. And I’m in a rather desolate part of town, and it’s pretty late on a Monday night too, so it’s even more deserted than usual. And I’m just standing there getting more and more enraged. So, I go up to the damn machine really close and start screaming at it and pounding on the glass and stuff. I’m like, “You motherfucking piece of shit fucking cocksucker of a fucking machine, give me my fucking card back! Ah!” In other words, I suddenly realize, acting like a complete asshole--which, I also realize, makes the machine right about me, that I am an asshole. And it’s telling me about it nicely. The machine is just politely stating a fact. I’m the one making all the fuss. Shit. I don’t know. It just kind of struck me. And then there I was, like some idiot tilting a pinball machine, trying to get some mechanical device to do my bidding. What a schmuck. Shaking my fist at this lifeless wall of electric-lighted dots and dashes, freezing my balls off, infuriated over some petty inconvenience. What a sight. I started thinking, ‘Is it really worth it. Getting all bent out of shape over something as stupid as, well, when it comes down to it: money?’ There was a tree there in the sidewalk, maybe a poplar or a cottonwood, and for some reason I looked up at it. It caught my eye. It was deep into the depths of winter, and its branches were all gnarled and wiry and leafless, like it had all these disjointed knobby elbows jutting out all over the place. I got all contemplative, I guess. My mind went numb and bleary. As I gazed up through all those bare limbs, well, I noticed there was some sky up there, up above it all, and noticed--for the first time in like quite a decent while-- the stars up there too, set into the inky black like rhinestones or silver sequins coruscating away, free and each alone but not lonely, sewed into the hems of the universe. And you know what? It was fucking nice. It made everything seem okay. And the world was going on as it always had. It was we humans who had tricked ourselves into thinking that anything we did was going to make a difference. It was such an odd thing, being a human, alive in this way that I was. We were all just some sort of conduit, a set of perceptions for God to see the world with, because God wasn’t alive. God couldn’t see or touch or listen to the world he’d created. And he needed us, all of us who were alive, to see and hear through. Each of us was an incredibly tiny part of god, yet not one of us was insignificant. And we’d all do so much better if we’d just stop worrying all the time, and did our part to be kind and to enjoy this world we had this one time we were lucky enough to be given to go through living in. God wasn’t a single being, not in any such way as our minds could comprehend of it at least. It was more like a massive combination of all things, all life, every last atom, all the molecules and dimensions beyond our ability to grasp. We could be so much more than we think, if only we’d stop trying so hard to be something we’re not, going around, you know, trying to make the world adapt to us instead of seeing things as they are: infinite. Oh, and so all this romantic humanitarian shit’s like capsizing my head, and I’m getting a little dizzy and lightheaded, staring at that stupid tree and the piece-of-shit starry sky and stuff. I’m not so smart. The ATM beeped or blipped at me, and I spun around, snapped right out of my trance, and the screen’s blank, black, totally empty, and my card is being ejected out of the slot, and there’s my money too, just waiting for me to snatch it and be on my way, and I wanted so much to just hurry away, to be gone, anywhere else but there where it was cold and lost and as lonely as anything I’d ever known, and then I realized that I wasn’t sad at all, that I was joyous, filled with a glowing ember of faith, and I went to the machine and reached for my debit card, and it was warm in my palm, and the money was gritty and true and felt good crunching in my fingers as I folded it into my wallet, and I was thankful, I was so thankful, mercy was bestowed upon me, and I gave thanks, and dear lord, yes, I gave thanks, and I give thanks…