Loophole

Loophole

A chilly early morning, the day after an early winter storm struck New York. I put on a clean change of clothes and headed out to subway station. I impatiently waited for a couple minutes until from a distance I spotted my train. I hoped on the dirty antique train and fought my way to the back of the train. There was only one empty seat in the crowded morning train, the seat was specially reserved for pregnant women. So, I took it. I invested on this trip, $2.75 to be precise. I have to take maximum advantage to the situation; a free seat is a free seat. Finders keepers, right?

I decided that this time my destination would be Chelsea.Av. I’ve visited its pristine streets before, good businesses always come out from my express visits.

In the agitated morning, thoughts rambled around my mind as I tried to focus on my well-executed plan. My goal was to get to an ATM. My actual goal was to get to the bougie side of New York, that’ why I’m heading to Chelsea.Av. The side were the skyscrapers seem to get ahold of the outer space, the New York were dreams are made of, or so I’ve heard. In other words, I’m going to the right side of the tracks.

In the lapse of two martyrdom hours, I have finally arrived tom destination. On my way to the ATM, I did my best to not act like an outsider. Failed without a doubt. Flamboyant bystanders stared at my direction, insinuating superiority and fright.

I scared them. 

Different scares people.

Standing in line at the ATM, a massive adrenaline rush got to me. I patiently waited to withdraw cash.

Withdraw cash from my non-existent back account. I thought to myself letting out a couple chuckles.

I had to think through and wait until no one was around. It took me quite some time but, I finally got to subtly maneuver the machine. Hopefully, after the little adjustments I’d made to it, the next not so fortunate, arrogant rich person will have so technical difficulties.

Minutes flew by when a middle-aged woman holding a luxurious Channel bag in one hand and a yoga mat in the other made an appearance.

“Good morning ma’am!”

 I enthusiastically exclaimed. I knew what I was doing.

She did not bother to make eye contact. She looked at me up and down and made a loathing face I recognized.

“Oh my, what has this neighborhood become.” She murmured.

She was the perfect match.

 I walked a few feet away, and pretended to be on a call, I tried to include all the hood slang I picked up from my neighborhood. Not 5 seconds in the fake call and I could sense her feeling uneasy while she eavesdropped my word choice. The snobby lady from Chelsea inserted her card in, coincidently she got a phone call as well.

Any time now, any time. I thought.

 Not a minute went by when the lady said: “Oh Linda! No, I’m not ok. I put my card in for withdrawal, and this piece of plastic won’t spit out my cash. Tell your dad to go play poker by himself, I don’t like to carry out cash.”

I heard her footsteps disappear. Bingo, I’d hit the jackpot!

After I saw her get into a dark colored Range Rover parked in the lot next to the ATM and drive away, I quickly directed toward the machine. Crossed fingers and feeling my blood pumping in my ears I did what my absent father taught me, the only good thing I got from him. Shake the machine twice and press the upper left button three consecutive times.

Full of joy and excitement I closed my eyes prayed and finally my ears were content when I heard the pleasing sound of the ATM dispensing cash. And so, I found myself holding $400. Thanks to the snobby rich lady my 3 younger siblings and I can afford to pay our electric bill.

Last month another opinionated salesman from Manhattan helped us get through the month. He just didn’t know it.

My job at the grocery sort and my night shifts at Walmart won’t cover all of our bills, I have to get creative.

We’re stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. I might seem like the villain of the story but after all, most of them stole from the poor first anyway. 

I had to think through and wait until no one was around. It took me quite some time but, I finally got to subtly maneuver the machine. Hopefully, after the little adjustments I’d made to it, the next not so fortunate, arrogant rich person will have so technical difficulties.

Minutes flew by when a middle-aged woman holding a luxurious Channel bag in one hand and a yoga mat in the other made an appearance.

“Good morning ma’am!”

 I enthusiastically exclaimed. I knew what I was doing.

She did not bother to make eye contact. She looked at me up and down and made a loathing face I recognized.

“Oh my, what has this neighborhood become.” She murmured.

She was the perfect match.

 I walked a few feet away, and pretended to be on a call, I tried to include all the hood slang I picked up from my neighborhood. Not 5 seconds in the fake call and I could sense her feeling uneasy while she eavesdropped my word choice. The snobby lady from Chelsea inserted her card in, coincidently she got a phone call as well.

Any time now, any time. I thought.

 Not a minute went by when the lady said: “Oh Linda! No, I’m not ok. I put my card in for withdrawal, and this piece of plastic won’t spit out my cash. Tell your dad to go play poker by himself, I don’t like to carry out cash.”

I heard her footsteps disappear. Bingo, I’d hit the jackpot!

After I saw her get into a dark colored Range Rover parked in the lot next to the ATM and drive away, I quickly directed toward the machine. Crossed fingers and feeling my blood pumping in my ears I did what my absent father taught me, the only good thing I got from him. Shake the machine twice and press the upper left button three consecutive times.