An appalling spectacle of human error
Tales of the subconscious part 1
I knew how to use a bank machine. I’d used them hundreds of times before. Flawlessly. That’s why, when I strode confidently up to a downtown bank machine that cool September evening, I had no inkling of the pain, the bloodshed, and the appalling spectacle of human error that was about to unfold.
My plan was simple—indeed, almost shocking in its brusque elegance. Withdraw $100. Yes, that was the plan. But a split second after I pressed the ‘Amount correct?’ button, I realized that the amount was not correct. I had just keyed in a withdrawal of $1000, not $100.
“Shit,” I muttered. But I wasn’t concerned, as my account didn’t permit cash withdrawals of that size.
Or did it?
“SHIT!” I yelled as the machine launched into the familiar clicking and whirring that signalled an imminent ejaculation of funds. I frantically pressed the ‘Cancel’ button, but it was too late. My order was on its way.
The clicking and whirring went on for a long time. A very, conspicuously long time. I started to get nervous. The rough-looking fellow waiting behind me knew this was no ordinary withdrawal. So did the panhandler types to my right. They openly watched the machine, waiting to witness the wondrous money shot that was soon to occur.
Finally, the machine spat out a cool thousand bucks. One thousand dollars, by the way, is fifty $20 bills. The wad was huge. When it emerged, I heard a sharp intake of breath on my right. At that moment, standing on a darkening downtown street with a grand in my hand, I felt distinctly vulnerable. And stupid.
Then, somewhere deep in my psyche, a voice spoke.
Glen.
Yes?
This is your subconscious mind speaking. I don’t normally make conscious appearances, but in this case I’m making an exception.
Oh, hi.
You idiot. Listen, you can handle this. Just keep a hundred and redeposit the other nine hundred. You’ll be fine.
Good idea. I shoved five twenties in my pocket, grabbed a deposit envelope and stuffed the rest of the wad into it. I could feel many eyes upon me. I knew they had just watched me withdraw a giant pile of cash from a bank machine, only to put most of it back. Clearly, I was an imbecile.
Then, suddenly, the situation escalated to nightmarish proportions. For as I hurriedly licked the acrid flap of that foul-smelling envelope—and I say this without the slightest whiff of hyperbole—I gave myself the worst paper cut in the history of the human race. To my horror, the glue-covered flap sliced deeply into the sensitive flesh at the corner of my mouth.
“URRRRRGUHHH!” I grunted, reflexively pressing the nine hundred dollars to my wounded lips as the corrosive glue amplified the sting to an unimaginable degree. Tears filled my eyes. I tasted blood. What were the people around me thinking now? I kept my back turned. I didn’t want to be seen like this.
Deep in my psyche, the voice spoke again.
Glen, could you clarify something for me?
Uhhh, what?
Is this a financial transaction, or a suicide attempt?
Shut up.
I was wounded, but I couldn’t succumb. My mission was almost completed. Blinking back the tears, I keyed in my deposit—but alas, there was one final screw-up to be had before the end. Somehow, even though I was consciously trying not to, I repeated the same error that started the whole incident. A split second after I pressed ‘OK,’ I realized that I hadn’t keyed in a deposit of $900. I had keyed in a deposit of $9000.
“FUCK!!!” I screamed.
But again, it was too late. With a triumphant “mreep,” the machine spat out my card and a transaction slip showing an extra $8100 in my account. I slunk off into the deepening dusk, swearing and bleeding and expecting to be apprehended for bank fraud in the near future.
And my fit of self-inflicted humiliation was not over even then. The next day I felt obliged to call my bank manager and explain, in precise detail, what I had done. He just laughed and told me not to worry about it; he, and the soulless corporate monolith he served, understood that it was just an innocent moment of human error.
Stories of bank machine blunders tend to have happy endings, and this one is no exception. I not only escaped from my little misadventure unarrested—incredibly, I wasn’t even service-charged for the correction of my deposit!
And now I have a delightful story about my stupidity that will spread happiness and joy throughout the world. Isn’t that lovely?
No, not particularly.
Oh, shut up. •
Originally published in The Peak, November 30 1998. Original title: “Human error—a true story”
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