Community Notebook

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An ATM of One's Own

Sparrow with ATM

This is the story of a man, a vision and an ATM machine. The man is me. As we begin this saga, it is 2:14 am, and I am washing dishes. Lathering spoons, I listen to the radio, tuning from one far-off station to another.

There are certain commercials you hear only at 2:14 in the morning. One now arrives: “Unique business opportunities are opening up for ambitious entrepreneurs. Own your own ATM machine! Within the next four years, ATM use will increase by 500 percent! Find out how to take advantage of this remarkable offer! Call...”

I dash over to the sideboard and transcribe the number.
Next morning, I make the call. A woman with a Southern accent answers the phone. “Hello,” she says neutrally.

“Is this the number for ATM machines? I wish to own one,” I assert.
“Yes. Give us your address, and we’ll send you a packet,” she replies.
I explain my location, and ask, “Where are you? I always wonder where the person on the phone is literally sitting.”

“The business is in Dermain, Florida. I’m just the answering service,” she explicates.
Hanging up the phone, I have several questions: Why wouldn’t she name her town? Was she afraid of me? And doesn’t a clerk normally speak the name of the business when she answers the phone?
Meanwhile, I await the promising packet.

Now I have a lot of decisions to make. My first is which room should house my new cash machine. Should I hide it discreetly in the closet? Should I place it in the bathroom, in front of the toilet, so that visitors having bowel movements will be tempted to use it? And next to the commode, I will place... a pile of Abercrombie & Fitch catalogues!

Also, I can customize my ATM. Upon its broad top, I can place crystals, West African ojima beads, a candle, three seashells. We have alternative medicine, independent movies, alternative rock. Why is there no alternative banking? Now is my opportunity to own a machine that combines the qualities of pagan altar and bank teller.

Perhaps my ATM should have no ornament except a human skull.
Or I could make clothes for it. My ATM could wear a dress, or a tutu, or a shawl and sombrero.
Or I could paint a vagina around the money slot.
Then there is the question of whether to install other machines in the house—a soda machine, a candy machine, a cigarette machine. (According to state law SR10693, it is perfectly legal for individuals to own cigarette machines. Only businesses are prohibited from harboring them.)
But the packet never arrives! I search through six piles of paper, and cannot find the “unique business opportunities” phone number.

I will never have a pet cash machine!, I weep.
Then, one afternoon, in the bathtub, the answer comes to me: “Search the Internet!”
Toweling off, I type “ATM” into my Netscape search engine. “ATMs from IMS. International Merchant Services has the best deals on automatic teller machines sales/leasing” comes the message.
One click later, I am learning such remarkable facts as “49.4 percent of consumers surveyed prefer getting their cash from ATMs rather than having to deal with people.” (Isn’t that the same percentage that voted for George W. Bush?) IMS, I see, is located at 1331-A Airport Freeway, in Euless, Texas. They list an 800 number.

So I call. “Please hold,” a woman tells me. On hold, I hear music lifting to sweet synthesizer crescendos through the telephone. “Hello, this is Pete King,” says a manly voice.
“What was that music?” I ask.
“Aliska, what CD is playing on hold?” my sales representative inquires. Behind him, I hear Aliska walking out of the room.
“Is Aliska her natural name?” I ask.
“Yes, it is,” Pete replies, proudly.
“That must be a Texan name,” I muse. “You’re in Euless, Texas, right?”
“‘Useless, Texas’, they call it,” Pete reveals. “How did you know that?”
“I just visited the Web site,” I speak. “By the way, where is Euless?” 
“Between Dallas and Fort Worth,” Pete explains.

“I didn’t know there was anything between Dallas and Fort Worth!”
“Sure. Arlington, the fourth largest city in Texas, is between Dallas and Fort Worth. You see, if you picture a baseball diamond missing second base, between the pitchers mound and home plate are a series of bedroom communities, including Bedford and Euless,” Pete expounds.
I feel I must sit very still. Meanwhile, Aliska returns with the name of the CD: Keys To Imagination by Yanni.

“So how can I help you?” Pete volunteers.
“I am interested in buying an ATM,” I venture bravely.
“Well, there’s three main ways to do that. You can buy one outright, with cash or credit card, you can lease one through a leasing company, or you can borrow money from a bank—but most banks aren’t going to lend to you unless you have credit like God. Even if you’re a business, you need good trade references, four figure average monthly earnings...”

“So anyone can buy an ATM?” I persist.
“Just put down the money.”
“How much is one?” I inquire.
“Between $6200-6500. If you amortize that over five years, you’ll pay about $100 a month.”
“Do they come in different colors?” I ask.
“There’s just the colors you see on the Web site. If you want a Korean brand, I can get you gold and putty gray.”

“Thank you so much,” I effuse.
“Call us anytime,” invites Pete King.
In Euless and Phoenicia, we hang up our phones.
$6200! If only I had credit like God!

International Merchant Services Web site: www.atm24.com. (800)769-2826. (Pete King is a pseudonym.)

—Sparrow