Being the Captive of an ATM on the Upper West Side
Written By: Tara Tandlich
Once again, I was caught in the lair of a technical tantrum. Last time, my conflict occured at a grocery store. The latest indignity took place at my bank. Like in my previous encounter, my annoyance wasn’t just at the machine. I get it. Theywack-out sometimes. Okay, they wack-out a lot. However, the human tasked with taming the machine should remain functional. Or so I thought.I thought wrong.Really wrong.Here’s what happened.
Recently, at my trusted (and I use the term loosely) Upper West Side financial institution, I stood in front of the still-new ATMs. Not long ago, the old ATMs were replaced. Gone is the flat shelf in front of the machine, perfect for placing down a wallet, water bottle or bag. Instead, there’s a sloped area. Now, a water bottle and wallet roll or fall off. In order for my bag not to fall, I must jut my right hip into my bag, then press it firmly into the lower part of the ATM. This (sort of) lets me steady my bag and access a wallet. Or a sedative. The shelf-removal followed other useful (not) renovations.First the pens and cash envelopes were ushered out. Then went the TVs. These hung on the bank walls and played music videos. After that came the removal of phones connecting directly to 24/7/365 customer service. Finally, the free holiday cookies crumbled into oblivion. Regardless, I finished my transaction and waited for my receipt. Instead, my card got stuck in the ATM, which I now refer to as: Card Kidnapper Number One. (Please see photo, below. I returned later and hung the sign, as a warning).
Before that, I wiggled my card. Jiggled it. Tapped lightly on the glass (Okay, first I tapped, then I banged). Nothing. Then I found a Customer Service representative. “The machine ate my card, won’t let it go and now I don’t have a receipt.”The rep followed me to the offending party. I pointed. “See?”She nodded. “Stay there! Don’t leave the machine!” She scampered off. Most likely behind the velvet ropes of some dusky, technical netherworld. Moments later, the ATM’s screen flashed a pale whitish-blue, not unlike an EGK showing a flat-line.
My card slid out of the machine. Time was ticking. I wasn’t finished at the bank, still had another errand to run, and then I needed to be back home in thirty minutes for a Zoom. Hoping for the best (a mistake) I inserted my card into another machine, which I now refer to as Card Kidnapper Number Two. (Please see photo, below. I returned later and hung the sign, as a warning).
Once again, my card was stuck. I cursed. The rep stood next to me. “Patience.”SERIOUSLY? THAT’S her words of comfort? I was trying to coax out my money, not wait for nail polish to dry or lasso a prom date. I turned to her. “Excuse me? I’M not at fault. I wouldn’t be upset if these machines weren’t defective. AND I still don’t have my receipt, so I have no way to track the transactions.” (Don’t get me started on the thrills of on-line banking or digital currency.) I waited for an apology. The customer service (I use the term loosely) rep said nothing. Was this black-masked, Morticia Addams look-alike, in her Goth-esque garb, really a banker? Doubtful. More like a hindrance. That’s why I dubbed her a Customer Lacking-in-Service Rep. Not long after, I stood at the teller window. Next to the teller stood the Customer Lacking-in-Service Rep. The teller was also clad in all black and looked suspiciously like “Wednesday” (Morticia’s daughter on The Addams Family).
The teller chugged the remnants of a Red Bull. Then, she tossed the can. It fell into the trash with a dull thud. Not unlike the feeling in the pit of my stomach that signaled another potentially challenging encounter. The teller glanced at me. Her blank stare was eerily/appropriately reminiscent of the out-of-order ATM screen.“What do you need?” Her monotone matched the bland walls. I wanted to answer: How about a smile? Instead, I relayed my request. Soon after, she began to process my transaction. During that time, I observed these two women, an unsettling mash-up of overcaffeinated, look-alike retro TV characters, void of sartorial and emotional color. Eventually, my transaction was complete and I left the bank. Quickly. Has anyone else also been trapped in a corporate wasteland pocked with ailing technology? If so, here’s my advice: avoid ATMs. Embrace the barter system.
