Fun fact:
Everybody knows that Automated Teller Machines can dispense cash, but did you know that you can make deposits at these so-called “ATMs” as well?
Amazing.
Simply, simply amazing what technology can do these days…*shakes head, low-whistles*
More amazing is that any adult would not already know this fact.
Now, if you didn’t know this tidbit of adulting trivia already, and feel a bit insulted by me pointing out your astounding ignorance, don’t let your feathers get too kerfluffled. You wouldn’t be the first beautiful mind to get tripped up on this.
In fact, I would say that you’re in good company.
Today, as I deposited a couple of checks at a conveniently located ATM–without an envelope, mind you–I marveled at how buttery-smooth of a transaction it was.
Especially compared to the very first time I made an ATM deposit of my own…
It was the Summer of 2002, and sure, like any other 21-year-old I had had my share of casual encounters with ATMs, but nothing, you know, like anything serious.
Usually these encounters would consist of me quickly entering my PIN, and then pulling out a small wad of cash in a well-timed manner. One might say that my withdrawal method1Ladies and gentlemen, the best latin phrase in the world:https://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/withdrawal-method/about/pac-20395283. was impeccable.
But when it came to any truly meaningful banking transactions devoid of a human intermediary, let’s face the cold hard facts: I was basically an ATM virgin.
And little did I know, but I was about to get deflowered.
Ah, yes, the Summer of ’02: I was working as a counselor at a summer camp about 15 minutes outside of the Greater Kansas City metro area.
Usually on the weekends, me and a handful of the other counselors would stay at the camp and just laze about eating all the leftover cafeteria-style pizza, honing our skills on the Blob, or just generally chillaxing pool-side. You know, living the high life.
On occasion, though, we would venture into KC for a lazy Saturday afternoon adventure. One Saturday in particular, no one else was around, so I decided to set out on my own.
But this day, I was on a mission.
You see, I wasn’t making very much money in this gig, but the paychecks were large enough that they belonged in the safety of my bank account. But, alas, during the work week, we were with the kids literally 24/7,2Legally required to be so, in fact. so it was virtually impossible to get to a bank during their regular business hours.
I’m sure I ran other errands that day, but the one I really needed to take care of was depositing those paychecks.
I don’t precisely recollect, but it is entirely possible that I wasn’t planning on getting screwed by an ATM that day. There is a decent chance I rolled up to the local branch of my bank fully expecting it to be open on a Saturday. Like I said, I was young and naive. Don’t judge me…yet.
So anyways, there I was, alone with the ATM. I was nervous and not sure of myself at all. It was awkward.
It being my first time, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Like…where I do even put it in, right?
My dad never sat me down and showed me around the delicate parts of an ATM, you know? He just never had that talk with me. I guess he figured I would pick up on the whole personal finance thing from movies and TV shows.
Despite the lack of parental guidance, I found the slot where I was supposed to enter the checks easily enough. But it was totally unclear to me how to get that slot to bloom like a lotus and allow me to make my deposit.
Ah! Envelopes! I found the deposit envelopes nearby, and, like any financially responsible adult, gently wrapped my signed checks inside the safety of the sturdy white walls of one of them.
At this point, I had one thought that kept nagging in the back of my mind. Say that I figured out how to get my envelope full of checks in that slot…then what? I seriously was concerned that, devoid of any explicit contextual information, come Monday the bank was going to get a bunch of signed checks and have no way of knowing that the funds belonged in my account.
Thinking it odd that the only thing they asked for on the envelope was the deposit amount, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I dug up a pen in my car, and wrote my full name on the envelope.
But I didn’t stop there. I needed that money to post to my account on time and I was leaving nothing to chance. So I wrote my full account number on there, too. Probably my address and phone number as well.
Hell, I think I may have even gone as far as putting my Social Security number on there.
By time I was done, I had that envelope covered front and back with inky, inky unsolicited information. I mean, I feel like only Ken Burns could put together something more well-documented than the work of art that I held in my hands.
But, I was confident that there would be no mistake about into whose account that money should go. And that’s what really mattered.
Certain that I had that dragon slain, I turned my attention back to the obvious problem of getting the envelope inside the ATM.
I tried everything I could think of, even going as far as forcing the slot open and trying to jam the envelope in. I was truly at a loss for why it wouldn’t just slide in. In fact, the envelope was getting a bit ragged and torn from the attempted forced entry. It wasn’t pretty.
I knew in my heart of hearts that there had to be a way to make the ----- deposit, but my mind couldn’t make sense of anything.
At this point, I had probably spent at least half an hour wrestling with this mother ----- Automated Teller Machine. And it was a hot mid-summer day. And I was covered in stress-sweat on top of that, as I was really freaking out about getting my checks deposited. I was dripping wet and feeling a little nasty, but in the most of uncomfortable of ways.
Let’s see if I can put this politely:
I was the one who had tried forcing themselves upon a poor defenseless machine, so it was ironic3Or an alternate theory: poetic. that in the end I was the one who felt sodomized.
Truly, technology had found me in the Alps.4This makes complete sense once you read The Alpine Stranger.
My spirit crushed, I finally gave up. I sat on the curb next to the ATM in defeat and tried my best to not sob gently to myself.
I was a lost soul adrift at sea, with no one to guide me to shore.
I never imagined in my wildest dreams that a piece of technology could cut me so deeply to the core. Yet there I was, with ink-stained hands and lightly covered in paper dust, a completely broken man.
I finally gathered myself and formed a new game plan. I just might be able to make it to Monday without overdrafting, and then maybe my boss would have mercy on my poor soul and let me run to town early in the morning when the bank was actually open.
I whipped out my debit card and stuck it into the ATM to double-check the balance on my account.
And that’s when I saw it: on the ATM’s touch screen flickered the option to Deposit Checks.
Profound is the only word I can really come up with to describe that moment of realization.
Yes, “profound”, as in, “Never have I felt so profoundly dumb in my life…”
Even to this day I am embarrassed by the sheer stupidity I exhibited for a good sustained 30+ minutes. I don’t even know how it was humanly possible to go through all those mental exercises and miss the TOTALLY OBVIOUS solution of using my debit card and PIN. Like, how would this not be the very first thing any human being would do at the beginning of any ATM interaction?
*Slaps forehead*
Of course in retrospect it all made waaaaay too much sense. Of course my debit card would be intrinsically tied to my bank account. Of course a touch-button would appear that I could press to tell the ATM I wanted to it to open its slot and take my check-laden envelope inside itself. Of course they could easily correlate said envelope with the ATM transaction that was initiated with my card. Of course this multi-billion dollar industry had already figured all this shit out. Of ----- course.
All that aside, I was so relieved to have finally solved the mystery that I didn’t really care how much of a dummy I may have looked like. I mean, there was no witnesses to this fiasco, after all.
Well, almost no witnesses. I can only imagine the unsuspecting teller who was processing the weekend’s deposits as they came across my busted-ass, half-shredded, vandalized-looking envelope:
The point of the story is, if you ever find yourself in the slim minority of people who has had to seriously question whether they actually have the basic intelligence needed to survive adulthood, just remember there is hope.
Despite getting my ass handed to me by an ATM in my youth, I survived to go on to earn an advanced degree in physics.
#HumbleBrag
Oh, and amazingly, I still love technology. Always and forever…
Content created on: 13-15 November, 2019 (Wed/Thur/Fri).
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