Andy The Baller

            I met Andy years ago at the neighborhood basketball court. I was there to practice my shot and Andy came up to me and asked if I wanted to play a game. It was a two on two, or a three on three. I can't recall.

            We were about a minute into the game when Andy started to mouth off. "What are you laughing at?" He said to me.

            Who is this guy? I wondered. He was obnoxious. I wanted to punch him. 
            Eventually, Andy and I became friends and as it turned out he was only obnoxious in competitive situations. 

            I was with Andy the other day when he turned to me and asked, "did I ever tell you the story about how I met Rasta Lenny?"

            "No."

            "He came up to the court to play and he started throwing his elbows around. I told him, hey man watch the elbows! We were jawing back and forth. I started to slap his elbows away when he threw them. After the game Lenny walked up to me and said, "okay Andy, you throw the first punch and after that I'm going wrap your balls around your neck!" My brother was there and he stepped in and Rasta Lenny told him, "I'll do the same to you."   Well, we Flanagans, we're not fighters, we're talkers and instigators. I can't fight and I know for sure my brother can't fight."

            "Isn't Rasta Lenny a black belt in karate?" I asked.
            "We didn't know that at the time."
            "What did you do?" 

            "We did what we Flanagans do best. We talked our way out of it."

            

ATM

            I pulled into a gas station. It was an Arco station with a communal ATM on the pillar. I wasn't familiar with it. I'm used to using ATM's that are on the pump. It took me a second to figure out how to slide the card in. I studied the picture example and stuck the card in the slot. The ATM snatched the card from my hand, ran the numbers, and spit the card out. Then it asked for my PIN number. I punched it in. Select a pump number was its next directive. I selected the pump number.
            Too late it said.
            What?
            Select pump! it demanded.
            I typed the pump number in again.
            Too late, it said.
            Huh? I tried it again.
            This time when it said select pump I punched in the number as fast as I could.
            Too late!
            Is this a joke? Am I being punked? I started talking to myself as I wrestled with the machine. I just wanted gas. I contemplated giving up and paying with cash. No, I can do this.
            I figured I'd cancel the transaction and start over. Maybe if the machine thought I was someone else it would quit messing with me. It worked. I got past the select pump number directive. I was relieved. Then the machine prompted its next message. A thirty-five cent fee will be added to this transaction.. accept or decline. 
            I accept! You son of a bitch!