Agnes, bless her cotton socks, wasn’t known for her technological prowess. “Technology,” she’d often declare, “is the devil’s typewriter!” So, when Agnes needed ten dollars from the ATM outside the supermarket, it was less a transaction and more a wrestling match.
She peered suspiciously at the machine, muttering, “Now, don’t you start any nonsense with me.” She inserted her card upside down. The ATM, unsurprisingly, rejected it with a frustrated beep.
“Rude!” Agnes huffed, flipping the card and trying again. This time, it worked. The screen flashed, demanding her PIN. Agnes, squinting, tapped in her house number. Incorrect. She tried her anniversary date. Incorrect. Finally, after a dramatic sigh, she keyed in her actual PIN.
“Withdrawal amount?” the screen blinked.
Agnes poked the “1” then the “0” with her index finger, convinced she was about to be swindled. The machine whirred, clicked, and then…nothing. Agnes waited. And waited.
“Come on, you metal monster!” she exclaimed, rapping on the screen with her knuckles. “I only want ten dollars! Is that too much to ask?”
Suddenly, a younger woman behind her spoke up. “Excuse me, ma’am, are you having trouble?”
Agnes turned, eyes blazing. “Trouble? I’m in a battle for ten dollars against a machine clearly designed by a committee of squirrels! It’s holding my money hostage!”
Just then, a slip of paper shot out of the machine. Agnes snatched it. It was her receipt. Underneath the transaction details was a printed message: “Insufficient Funds.”
Agnes stared at the receipt, then at the line of people now snickering behind the woman. She crumpled the receipt in her fist and muttered, “Well, I never! The cheek of it! Calling me broke in public! I’ll show it…” Then, louder, she added, “I knew I should have just asked my son for it, and then I could have gotten that chocolate bar I wanted!” And that’s when a ten dollar bill shot out of the machine. Apparently, that chocolate bar wish was the password all along.
