Atm Quotes

What if he's a psychopath who tries to stuff kittens in ATMs?

My currency is kindness, and while there are no ATMs that dispense it, it’s also not accepted or recognized at strip clubs.

> I was at an ATM and this old lady asked me to help check her balance,  > So I pushed her over.

If you wanna make friends at the ATM, do the creep.

SinnerThree: … Tell me more about lobster sex, if you want. I’m not picky about sex talk as long as someone’s fucking. I laugh softly. This guy’s funny, I’ll give him that. LobsterShorts: I’m fresh out of lobster sex facts atm. BUT…lemme tell you about sea slugs. SinnerThree: Omg yes. I can’t wait for this. Hold on. Let me undo my pants.

In Venezuela Chavez has made the co-ops a top political priority, giving them first refusal on government contracts and offering them economic incentives to trade with one another. By 2006, there were roughly 100,000 co-operatives in the country, employing more than 700,000 workers. Many are pieces of state infrastructure – toll booths, highway maintenance, health clinics – handed over to the communities to run. It’s a reverse of the logic of government outsourcing – rather than auctioning off pieces of the state to large corporations and losing democratic control, the people who use the resources are given the power to manage them, creating, at least in theory, both jobs and more responsive public services. Chavez’s many critics have derided these initiatives as handouts and unfair subsidies, of course. Yet in an era when Halliburton treats the U.S. government as its personal ATM for six years, withdraws upward of $20 billion in Iraq contracts alone, refuses to hire local workers either on the Gulf coast or in Iraq, then expresses its gratitude to U.S. taxpayers by moving its corporate headquarters to Dubai (with all the attendant tax and legal benefits), Chavez’s direct subsidies to regular people look significantly less radical.

How humans love plundering a forest, like spoiled children with their parents' ATM cards and no concept of moderation

A pill mill was a pain-management clinic, staffed by a doctor with little more than a prescription pad. A pill mill became a virtual ATM for dope as the doctor issued prescriptions to hundreds of people a day.

With Sofiya’s warm body pressed against mine in bed, guilt gnawed atme. Could I really fail this innocent girl? She was like a damsel in distress, a lamb among wolves. Shit. I was supposed to be the wolf she feared.

New Rule: If you get to serve me a quarter-head of lettuce with dressing on it, which proves you could have made a salad but chose not to, then I get to pay you with an ATM receipt, which proves I have the money but you're not getting any.

There was nothing in his pockets except paper money and an expired passport and an ATM card and a clip-together toothbrush.

New Rule: You can't force the ATM to do something it doesn't want to do. Excuse me, lady in front of me at the Citibank ATM, but you've been standing there punching buttons for ten minutes--what are you trying to do, write a novel on it? You hear those beeping noises? That's the ATM saying, "Stop it, you're hurting me." A chicken would have gotten forty bucks out of that thing by now just by pecking the buttons randomly.

As a child I assumed that when I reached adulthood, I would have grown-up thoughts. By this I meant that I would stop living in a fantasy world; that, while standing in line for a hamburger or my shot at the ATM, I would not daydream about befriending a gorilla or inventing a pill that would make hair waterproof.

You were a town with one pay phone and someone else was using it. You were an ATM temporarily unable to dispense cash. You were an outdated link and the server was down. You were invisible to the naked eye. You were the two insect parts per million allowed in peanut butter. You were a car wash that me as dirty as when I pulled in. You were twenty rotting bags of rice in the hold of a cargo plane sitting on the runway in a drought-riddled country. You were one job opening for two hundred applicants and you paid minimum wage. You were grateful for my submission but you just couldn't use it. You weren't a Preferred Provider. You weren't giving any refunds. You weren't available for comment. Your grave wasn't marked so I wandered the cementary for hours, part of the grass, part of the crumbling stones.

I hear swinging in commando style is all rage among interstellar murder squads atm.

Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'm out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars… everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being.

Think before you speak. Don’t be an asshole. Show kindness when it’s warranted and walk away when it costs you more than you’re willing to give. Don’t be an ATM that people can take from but never deposit into. Be a depositor. And always, always give your best only to those that deserve it.

I once saw two endangered species about to have sex, but I had to put a stop to it because I suspected one of them of being a prostitute. Then I went to the ATM and took out some cash just to be certain.

My desire was a galloping thing, and her touch, unlike that of boys, didn't snuff it out. If my body had been a passive machine from which men made withdrawals, like an ATM whose code they were handed on the day of their first erection, then with her it was a winning slot machine, screaming jangly music and spewing coins.

Pressed to identify useful financial innovations created during the past quarter-century, Paul A. Volcker, former Federal Reserve Chairman and recent chairman of President Obama’s Economic Recovery Board, could single out only one: “The ATM.

I love L.A. It's a great, sprawling, spread-to-hell city that protects us by its sheer size. Four hundred sixty-five square miles. Eleven million beating hearts in Los Angeles County, documented and not. Eleven million. What are the odds? The girl raped beneath the Hollywood sign isn't your sister, the boy back-stroking in a red pool isn't your son, the splatter patterns on the ATM machine are sourceless urban art. We're safe that way. When it happens it's going to happen to someone else.

Some of us get smaller denominations from the romance ATM than others. In addition to the flings, I’d had about fifteen five-month relationships, not to mention the six- and nine-month relationships, not to mention the on-and-off ones that came to life in the night like haunted toaster ovens: You up?

I've taped a list to my bathroom mirror. It's my Most Violated List. . . Anger. I gave the finger to an ATM. You see, the ATM charged me a $1.75 fee for withdrawl. A dollar seventy-five? That's bananas. So I flipped off the screen. As Julie tells me, when you start making rude gestures to inanimate objects, it's time to work on your anger issues. Mine is not the shouting, pulsing-vein-in-the forehead rage. Like my dad, I rarely raise my voice. My anger problem is more one of long-lasting resentment. It's a heap of real or perceived slights that eventually build up into a mountain of bitterness. . . get some perspective. . . I ask myself the question God asked Jonah. 'Do you do well to be angry?'. . .The world will not end. . . Mute your petty resentment.

Great leaders do not movitate people, they inspire them.

But that's not normal, Dex. You just robbed an ATM.

When the ATM brings out naira notes, they look the same no matter how you have earned it.

The Diebold company, which also manufactures ATMs, should not receive another dime until it can produce a voting system that is similarly reliable.

Sie atmet leise. Ich atme mit ihr zusammen, auch leise,[...]

If we are going to create a financial system that works for all Americans, we have got to stop financial institutions from ripping off the American people by charging sky-high interest rates and outrageous fees. In my view, it is unacceptable that Americans are paying a $4 or $5 fee each time they go to the ATM. It is unacceptable that millions of Americans are paying credit card interest rates of 20 or 30 percent. The Bible has a term for this practice. It’s called usury. And in The Divine Comedy, Dante reserved a special place in the Seventh Circle of Hell for those who charged people usurious interest rates. Today, we don’t need the hellfire and the pitch forks, we don’t need the rivers of boiling blood, but we do need a national usury law.

want relationships to work like an ATM. I give to others, and they spit out exactly what I request. Instead, it’s more like a slot machine. I never know what I’m going to get in return, and sometimes I get nothing but X’s across the board.

The rules are strict but simple: Poker asks, nay, commands all its adherents to cut the bullshit and embrace reality. It will toy with the deluded — those who have everything figured out — with the playful cruelty of a cat toying with a mouse. Bring all of your convictions and credentials, your anger and insecurities to the poker table and the Poker Gods will tease you and mock you and fill you with false hopes and send you to the ATM a few times before releasing you, broke and steaming, at 5am.

Leise nippe ich an meinem Kaffee, sitze auf der Terrasse, eingekuschelt in meinem kleinen Dschungel von Kräutern und summenden Bienen, lasse meine Gedanken wandern, durchtränkt von der Wärme der aufgehenden Sonne. Atme die weiche Luft ein und aus fülle den Moment mit Fluids von Frieden.

Yes, an awful lot of sorrow has sort of quietened down up here. People just wild with grief have brought their relatives up to this hill. We all know how it is... and then time... and sunny days... and rainy days... n' snow... We're all glad they're in a beautiful place and we're coming up here ourselves when our fit's over. Now there are some things we all know but we don't takem' out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and ain't even the stars... everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it.

Digitization + ubiquitous connectivity + consumer empowerment = enable an environment for disruptive innovation

بالرغم من ذلك الإحساس اللذيذ بالحب الذي بدأ ينتشر في الهواء بينهما وهما يشمان الورد سويًا في حديقة "الجزيرة"، لكنه لا يستطيع أن يخبرها أنه عامل "دليفري كنتاكي"، لو دخل الحارة التي يسكن فيها سيأكل ضربًا مبرّحًا من أهل الحارة الذين سيعتقدون بالتأكيد أنه "حرامي جي يهبأ على البيوت" لأنه حارته توجد بمنطقةٍ غامضة في أدغال القاهرة الشعبية، لم تعرف يومًا ساكنًا طلب "دليفري" من "كنتاكي"! كان في كل مرّةٍ تقترح عليه أن يطلب الأكل بالتليفون، يتحجج بأنه سيذهب ليشتري الأكل بنفسه حتى لا يحرم نفسه من ممارسة بعض الرياضة، وهو في الواقع إنما يخرج حتى يعقّب ساندويتشي الفول وواحد طعمية بواحد شاي خمسينة على مقهى "عفانة" الذي لا يدري هل سموه عفانة نظرًا لطبيعة المقهى أم أن المقهى "معفنة" نسبةً لاسم صاحبها! اقتراحاتها الدائمة بأن يسحب الفلوس من ماكينة "ATM" طالما أن "مش معاه فلوس تكفي" ..تصيبه بالغثيان، ولكنه يرد عليها بأنه نسيها في البيت، وإنه سيؤجل شراء كذا وكذا ليومٍ آخر! كان يوّد أن يصف لها محل "الطرشي" "متر في متر" الذي يمتلكه والده، ويحكي لها عن الشقة ذات الحجرتين دون صالةٍ أو حمام أو حتى مساحة للوقوف، والتي يسكنها مشاركًا أبوه وأمه والخمس أخوات فوق رؤوس بعض .. لكن لذَة الحب الغض الذي بدأ ينمو كما تنمو البرعمة الخضراء في بستان الحياة أقوى من تلك الشجاعة التي قد تنهي عشقًا قبل أن يأخذ مكانه تحت الشمس!

In 7.81 square miles of vaunted black community, the 850 square feet of Dum Dum Donuts was the only place in the "community" where one could experience the Latin root of the word, where a citizen could revel in common togetherness. So one rainy Sunday afternoon, not long after the tanks and media attention had left, my father ordered his usual. He sat at the table nearest the ATM and said aloud, to no one in particular, "Do you know that the average household net worth for whites is $113,149 per year, Hispanics $6,325, and black folks $5,677?" "For real?" "What's your source material, nigger?" "The Pew Research Center." Motherfuckers from Harvard to Harlem respect the Pew Research Center, and hearing this, the concerned patrons turned around in their squeaky plastic seats as best they could, given that donut shop swivel chairs swivel only six degrees in either direction. Pops politely asked the manager to dim the lights. I switched on the overhead projector, slid a transparency over the glass, and together we craned our necks toward the ceiling, where a bar graph titled "Income Disparity as Determined by Race" hovered overhead like some dark, damning, statistical cumulonimbus cloud threatening to rain on our collective parades. "I was wondering what that li'l nigger was doing in a donut shop with a damn overhead projector.

Es ist, wie wenn man sich selbst im Spiegel betrachtet und immer wieder seinen Namen sagt. Und irgendwann kommt einem nichts mehr real vor. Genauso geht es mir manchmal, aber ich brauche keine Stunde vor dem Spiegel dafür. Es geht ganz schnell, dass mir die Dinge entgleiten. Ich öffne die Augen und sehe nichts mehr. Und ich atme ganz schwer und versuche, noch irgendetwas zu erkennen, aber ich erkenne nichts. Es passiert nicht sehr häufig, aber wenn, jagt es mir wirklich Angst ein.

By 2030, some form of Crypto will become the global reserve currency but it will not be based on what exists today. Existing cryptos need to transform or will disappear. Also around 2030 or so, the first Nobel Prize in Economics will be awarded to a Cryptoeconomist.

Wir müssen nichts tun für unseren Tod. Unser Leben lang können wir uns in einem Schrank unter der Treppe verstecken, und er wird uns dennoch finden. Der Tod wird in einem unsichtbaren Umhang erscheinen, mit einem Zauberstab fuchteln und uns wegzerren, wenn wir am wenigsten damit rechnen. Er wird jede Spur unserer Existenz auf Erden tilgen, und das alles kostenfrei. Er verlangt keine Gegenleistung. Bei unserer Bestattung wird er sich verbeugen und die Lobpreisung für gut getane Arbeit entgegennehmen. Dann wird er verschwinden. Das Leben ist etwas fordernder. Eines müssen wir nämlich immer tun. Atmen. Ein und aus, jede Sekunde Minute Stunde jeden Tages müssen wir uns Luft zuführen, ob es uns gefällt oder nicht. Selbst wenn wir uns vornehmen, unsere Hoffnungen und Träume zu ersticken, müssen wir immer noch atmen. Selbst wenn wir verfallen und dem Mann an der Ecke unsere Würde verhökern, atmen wir noch. Wir atmen, wenn wir uns irren, wir atmen, wenn wir Recht haben, wir atmen sogar, wenn wir in einen Abgrund stürzen und unser Leben verfrüht ein Ende nimmt. Man kann das Atmen nicht weglassen. Also atme ich.

Blockchain by itself isn't transformational, however it is foundational. As a foundational innovation, Blockchain's value can only be fully realized when the business process is transformed to take advantage of its capabilities, leading to ROI for existing business models and the ability to create value through new ones.

Scalable Social Network Analysis. The SSNA would monitor telephone calls, conference calls, and ATM withdrawals, but it also sought to develop a far more invasive surveillance technology, one that could “capture human activities in surveillance environments.” The Activity Recognition and Monitoring program, or ARM, was modeled after England’s CCTV camera. Surveillance cameras would be set up across the nation, and through the ARM program, they would capture images of people as they went about their daily lives, then save these images to massive data storage banks for computers to examine. Using state-of-the-art facial recognition software, ARM would seek to identify who was behaving outside the computer’s pre-programmed threshold for “ordinary.” The parameters for “ordinary” remain classified.

Compared to a British corner shop, Japanese conbini are light years ahead in terms of the sheer breadth of services they provide. The big three brands are 7-Eleven, Family Mart and Lawson, and as well as being open twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year, absolutely without fail, each store is fully stocked with an ATM, a photocopier/printer, washrooms and a computer you can use to pay for everything from flights to Disneyland tickets. You can even pay your bills at the till. And that’s not even mentioning the extensive range of food, drinks, ready meals and an area where you can prepare them, complete with microwave, coffee machines and a kettle. Simply put, living off just a single Japanese conbini is frighteningly easy. The only inconvenience is deciding which one to go to. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, I had no less than four stores within a five-minute radius to choose from.

I wanted them," Fudge whined. "I know you did. But we can't buy everything you want." [Mom told him] "Why" "We don't have the money to buy..." I could tell Mom was having a hard time explaining this. She thought for a minute before she finished. "...just for the sake of buying. Money doesn't grow on trees." "I know it doesn't grow on trees," Fudge said. "You get it at the ATM." "You can't just go to the ATM whenever you want money," Mom told him. "Yes you can," Fudge said. "You put in your card and money comes out. It works every time." "No. You have to deposit money into your account first," Mom said. "You work hard and try to save part of your salary every week. The cash machine is just a way to get some of your money out your account. It doesn't spit out money because you want it. It's not that easy." "I know, Mom," Fudge said. "Sometimes you have to stand on line." Mom sighed and looked at me. "Got any ideas Peter?

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I stepped from the desert doorway with nothing except the clothes on my back and a shoulder bag filled with notebooks—blue-lined paper pads bound together with rubber bands and stained with my sweat, with camel shit, by smears of my own blood. The pages crazed with jottings about devastating heat. The bearings for remote wells. Inked maps of pilgrim roads. The divinations of Bedouin fire cures. Mile upon mile of sentences from an austere kingdom still largely closed to the world. I walked along the concrete highway and spotted the first alcoholic artifacts I had seen in seven months (bottles, cans), past a large potash mine, and up the wrinkled coast to a tourist town. I saw women in colorful sarongs. Some drove cars. Nobody watched me. I floated out of a desert wadi like windblown trash. I found an ATM. I asked directions to a posh hotel with knockoff Mies van der Rohe tubular furniture in the lobby. Men gave camel rides to tourists outside. “And where”—asked the clerk, without the least curiosity, as I signed the paperwork—”are you coming from, Mr. Salopek?

2/ KICK YOUR OWN ASS, GENTLY. I’ve been trying to set a few modest goals, both daily and weekly. In the course of a day, it’s good to get some stupid things accomplished, and off your “list.” I guess because it leaves you feeling that you and the “rest of the world” still have something to do with each other! Like today, for example, I can think back on sending a fax to my brother on his birthday, leaving a phone message for Brutus at his “hotel” on his birthday, phoning my Dad on his birthday (yep, all on the same day), then driving to Morin Heights to the ATM machine, to St. Sauveur for grocery shopping, and planning all that so I’d still have enough daylight left to go snowshoeing in the woods. And then I could drink. Not a high-pressure day, and hardly earth-shaking activities, but I laid them out for myself and did them (even though tempted to “not bother” with each of them at one point or another). I gave myself a gentle kick in the ass when necessary, or cursed myself out for a lazy fool, and because of all that, I consider today a satisfactory day. Everything that needed to be done got done. And by “needs” I certainly include taking my little baby soul out for a ride. And drinking. And there are little side benefits from such activities, like when the cashier in the grocery store wished me a genuinely-pleasant “Bonjour,” and I forced myself to look at her and return the greeting. The world still seems unreal to me, but I try not to purposely avoid contact with pleasant strangers. It wouldn’t be polite! Another “little goal” for me right now is spending an hour or two at the desk every morning, writing a letter or a fax to someone like you, or Brutus, or Danny, who I want to reach out to, or conversely, to someone I’ve been out of touch with for a long while, maybe for a year-and-a-half or two years. These are friends that I’ve decided I still value, and that I want as part of my “new life,” whatever it may be. It doesn’t really matter what, but just so you can say that you changed something in the course of your day: a neglected friend is no longer neglected; an errand that ought to be dealt with has been dealt with.

Walking Blues Not Packaged for Individual Sale I learned the word bodega the same day I learned arbitrage riding with you down to Richmond to buy armloads of the cheap cigarettes, the ones you'd packed duffled aboard a Chinatown bus to resell on the sly in Brooklyn. Back on Earth, driving your truck home alone, I turned both words over in my mouth again and again, polishing the gemstones. My mother learned bodega from 'Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes' and asked me to take a picture of the first one I saw when I visited you When I tried, you told me Don't preserve the evidence, dumbshit so I never got one. Besides, whatever glitter Paul Simon burnished onto the word had gotten lost among the toilet paper rolls and rubber gloves that lined the ceilings, though I found a glimmer of it napping on the warmth of the ATM, a cat who was named Lucy not after diamonds but after the cigarettes. This was back before you figured out how much more you can make by just stealing what you wanted. Back when I still thought of myself as the kind of friend who would visit you in jail.

Er ist nicht von ihrer Art. Ich glaube, er ist von meiner Art; ich bin mir sicher, dass er es ist - ich fühle mich ihm verwandt -, ich verstehe die Sprache seiner Miene und seiner Bewegungen; obwohl Rang und Vermögen eine tiefe Kluft zwischen uns schaffen, ist etwas in meinem Hirn und meinem Herzen, in meinem Blut und meinen Nerven, das mich im geistig gleich macht. Sagte ich vor wenigen Tagen, ich hätte nichts weiter mit ihm zu tun, als mein Salär von ihm zu erhalten? Habe ich mir verboten, ihm in jeglichem anderen Licht zu sehen als dem eines Brotherrn? Welche Blasphemie gegenüber der Menschennatur! Jedes gute, wahre kraftvolle Gefühl, das ich hege, sammelt sich aus freien Stücken um ihn herum. Ich weiß, dass ich meine Gefühle verbergen muss, jede Hoffnungs im Keim ersticken muss, nie vergessen darf, wie wenig ich ihm bedeute. Denn wenn ich sagen, ich sei von seiner Art, will ich damit nicht sagen, ich besäße seine Kraft der Beeinflussung oder seine Zaubermacht der Anziehung; ich will nur sagen, dass ich gewisse Vorlieben und Empfindungen mit ihm teile. Ich darf also nie vergessen, dass wir für alle Zeiten voneinander getrennt sind - und dennoch muss ich ihn lieben, so lange ich atme und denke.

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Moment Of Surrender" I tied myself with wire To let the horses run free Playing with the fire until the fire played with me The stone was semi-precious We were barely conscious Two souls too smart to be in the realm of certainty Even on our wedding day We set ourselves on fire Oh God, do not deny her It's not if I believe in love But if love believes in me Oh, believe in me At the moment of surrender I folded to my knees I did not notice the passers-by And they did not notice me I've been in every black hole At the altar of the dark star My body's now a begging bowl That's begging to get back, begging to get back To my heart To the rhythm of my soul To the rhythm of my unconsciousness To the rhythm that yearns To be released from control I was punching in the numbers At the ATM machine I could see in the reflection A face staring back at me At the moment of surrender Of vision over visibility I did not notice the passers-by And they did not notice me I was speeding on the subway Through the stations of the cross Every eye looking every other way Counting down till the pain would stop At the moment of surrender Of vision over visibility I did not notice the passers-by And they did not notice me No Line On The Horizon (2009)

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Today, if you go to an ATM machine and you put in your card, the bank may decide to give you your money. One day—as the people of Cyprus, Greece, Venezuela, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, and a list of hundreds of countries over the last several decades and even centuries have discovered—one day, you go to the bank and the bank does not want to give you the money, because they don’t have to. That’s the essence of a master-slave relationship. Bitcoin is fundamentally different because in bitcoin, you don’t owe anyone anything and no one owes you anything. It’s not a system based on debt. It’s a system based on ownership of this abstract token. Absolute ownership.

If you were my girl, I’d give you the passcode, the safe code, the social security number, the ATM pin, all’at,” he replied.

That guy says your colleague has cigarettes they cut our bellies and we start clucking. he puts our 100-lei bills into piles. if i’m like other poets i should have room. i stand up and run away with the ATM. a few hens get after us. my colleague says he’s been smoking the same cigarette for three days. he takes a drag and puts a cap on it for later. we butter him up and promise him the moon and the stars if he’d just let us have a drag. we feel like kissing him long and hard on his snout to take the cigarette smoke off the roof of his mouth. and we’re so sorry that the cigarette must burn to smoulder so that we’ve something to drag on. our colleague secretly smokes in his palms. because we think that such a crappy life only in prison, not even in death. (translated from the Romanian by Diana Manole)

Rudyard Kipling once wrote, “If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.

Hanawon, located about forty miles south of Seoul, means “House of Unity.” The campus of redbrick buildings and green lawns surrounded by security fences was built in 1999 by South Korea’s Ministry of Unification, a cabinet-level agency created to prepare for the day when North and South would somehow be reunited. Its programs are designed to help defectors transition into a modern society—something that will have to happen on a massive scale if North Korea’s 25 million people are ever allowed to join the twenty-first century. The Republic of Korea has evolved separately from the Hermit Kingdom for more than six decades, and even the language is different now. In a way, Hanawon is like a boot camp for time travelers from the Korea of the 1950s and ’60s who grew up in a world without ATMs, shopping malls, credit cards, or the Internet. South Koreans use a lot of unfamiliar slang,

attempted HIV vaccines are an ATM for NIH, whether they work or not.

Loss is not just what’s gone in the present but all of the future plans. The trips booked. The imagined graduation events. The holidays not celebrated together. Life falls apart in shudders, in emails from lawyers, drained bank accounts, trips to the ATM, new forms to fill out at the pediatrician, new boxes to check. Life falls apart in music stations no longer listened to, restaurants not gone to, food no longer eaten, dishes not ordered. Habits. Clothes. Preferences. Washed away.

The resort had been a sanitary bubble designed to shield you from the realities of culture and to limit your interaction with the local people. They were there to serve you, and you were there in your role as an ATM with a camera.

Then I imagined a whole world of people toiling in the shadow of approaching ruin, exhausting their strength and grace, while above them a whole other world of people puttered around, enjoying the good things of life, staying at the Burj just because they could. And I left my ATM woes out of it and just wrote: Paucity = Rage.

I'm so sad and so mad for many situations and for many reasons! Even though I'm in Korea atm, I know that I'm seeing my whole my fam! But, I feel so isolated and feel so lonely from people and I'm going to see people to interact and talk to them in person and through the msgs/calls. I feel so depressed rn.

Some well-known acronyms simply don’t work at all. Pin number, for example. Because what you’re actually saying is ‘personal information number number’. It’s the same with those who refer to the HIV virus. Or an ATM machine. Or an LCD display. Or an ISDN network. Then you have abbreviations that are longer to use than the actual words. Worldwide web, for instance, is three syllables, whereas WWW is nine. And why say: ‘Have you RSVPed?’ when you mean ‘Have you replied?’?

Everything operates on just-in-time delivery these days,” Mike said. “If the trucks stop, within twenty-four hours, hospitals and medical facilities will run out of basic supplies. Within three days, gas stations will be completely out of fuel. Store and restaurant shelves will be bare. ATMs and banks will run out of cash—though without power, we can’t access our money anyway. Within four weeks, the nation’s clean water supply will be completely exhausted.

It was 1992, and the Knicks were hosting their first annual summer camp for youngsters. Like many camps with professional teams, the club wanted to have one of its players make an appearance for a day. Not someone like Ewing, a star who had too many demands on his time already. But not someone from the end of the bench, either. So they asked Mason—basically still new to the NBA—if he’d appear for $1,500. The forward said yes, and the team provided him with a limousine to the camp that day. Mason had his window rolled down as the vehicle arrived, and the kids hovered around it like paparazzi, wanting to catch a glimpse of him up close. Yet Mason stayed in the car. First for two minutes. Then five. Then almost fifteen. Finally Ed Tapscott, then the club’s administrative director, came outside. He’d been responsible for Mason’s appearance at the camp that day, and couldn’t figure out why Mason wasn’t making his way inside the gym. “I’m not getting out of the car for anything less than $2,000, bro. And I want cash,” Mason told him. Tapscott figured he was joking at first. But Mason was completely serious. Sure, he’d agreed to the $1,500 figure before, but now—with an army of young, excited kids waiting inside—he had the leverage to play hardball. Tapscott said he wasn’t even sure he could realistically get access to that much cash that soon. “I had to give one of our staffers my ATM card,” he recalls. “What choice did I really have in a situation like that?” With assurance of the pay increase, Mason hopped out. He played in a couple of scrimmages with the children. But, in classic Mason fashion, he couldn’t turn off his competitiveness. While playing, Mason inadvertently elbowed a kid, knocking the child out cold and breaking his nose, which gushed with blood. When the boy regained consciousness, he woke to find a worried Mason hovering over him. The child smiled and asked the Knick to sign his bloody T-shirt. Meanwhile, Tapscott said he and others running the camp were merely happy to escape the situation without the threat of a lawsuit.

I know now that it wasn’t my fault, but at the time, it felt like it must have been. It was like one day, I was me, and the next, I was casting spells he wanted me to. He was at an ATM getting cash out one time and he got me to enchant the machine so that it malfunctioned and gave him a few hundred quid that wasn’t his. Another time, I cast a basic warding spell over his phone so that he could take it into exams and look the answers up without anyone noticing. I did things like that for weeks. Because he wanted me to. Because I thought if I did enough, he’d love me.

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Mit göttlicher Liebe genesen ... "Mit ganzer Seele überlasse ich mich dem göttlichen Willen. Ich weiß, dass ... (hier tragen Sie ein, um was es geht und was am Ende herauskommen soll, etwa: 'Ich weiß, dass meine Schwester heute an der Schulter operiert wird und ich möchte gern, dass ihre Schulter am Ende ganz geheilt ist und wieder richtig funktioniert und nicht schmerzt.') Ich bitte darum, dass sich alle Ängste und Probleme durch göttliche Liebe auflösen, ganz nach dem Willen des Schöpfers." Dabei Sitze ich, ohne die Beine übereinanderzuschlagen, die Handflächen nach oben in die empfangende Position gerichtet. Dann atme ich einmal tief ein, halte den Atem an, konzentriere mich auf den Thymus (genau unter dem Brustbein) und bitte darum, ein Kanal der göttlichen Liebe zu sein.

In the eyes of its citizens, the Venezuelan state is little more than an ATM—the magic box that stands between the oil in the ground and the outstretched palm, the device that performs the alchemy of turning oil into money in my pocket.

There are only three things that tell the truth: drunk people, small children, and yoga pants.” Hunter laughed out loud. “Well, last time I was at the gym, I asked the personal trainer which machine is best to impress the ladies—and he pointed outside to the ATM machine.

A feeble old lady with a gun kept us up there for twenty-two hours,” Deputy Clayton said. “I wonder whatever happened to that robot she shot.” “I heard it’s an ATM in West Covina now,” Deputy Ross said with a grin, “but it freaks out whenever somebody tries to deposit a Social Security check.” “PTSD is a bitch,” Clayton said.

I should’ve rescheduled my promo video and stayed in Paris. I’m clearly not appreciated here.” “Wrong. I appreciate you opening your wallet. I’m so lucky to have such a generous ATM by my side.

Perhaps they have come to abet our cause,” Atme said.

I swung from one place to the next, sometimes backward, sometimes forward, capitalizing on my own momentum, knowing that at some point my arms—or, more accurately, my quivering bank balance, accessed through foreign ATMs—would give out, and I’d fall to the ground.

By noon the next day, she had pulled off three more ATM events.

Before we took the trip, he had never been on an elevator, eaten a hamburger, or enjoyed a chocolate milkshake. He’d never seen a vacuum cleaner, dishwasher, trash compactor, ATM, vending machine, car with automatic locks, or Western-style movie theater. He had never been to a shopping mall, ridden in a car on the Interstate, or traveled at over 40 miles an hour. He’d never seen a rodeo, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or the Rubin Museum of Art in New York filled with Himalayan art, or drunk a single-malt scotch. Now he counts all of these marvels of Western culture as some of his favorite things.

a key part of their subsequent success was rooted in the insight that continuous improvement to the shopping experience rather than any one particular improvement had the potential to be a major competitive edge. Tesco’s improvements included their ‘One in front’ commitment to effectively abolish checkout line-ups, baby-changing and bottle-warming facilities, ATMs, escorted searches for product requests and priority parking for pregnant mums. It was not that one improvement was more successful than another; it was the relentless implementation of a never-ending stream of small improvements that steadily improved Tesco’s image relative to their competitors, who were left seemingly forever floundering in their wake. The scheme also got Tesco’s staff more engaged in service delivery and coming up with ideas for further improvements. ‘Every little helps’ helped Tesco attract over a million new shoppers in the period from 1990–1995.

There are many small charges that are tacked on to your monthly bill statements, such as credit cards, cable, Internet, utilities, and ATM fees. All of them seem like a small amount, but when you add them up, the total amount wasted each month can be startling. They are the proverbial death of a thousand cuts. By creating a monthly habit to review these bills, you can identify opportunities to reduce or eliminate your recurring expenditures. Description: Once a month, go through each statement and highlight any questionable item. Also, if you feel that you’re spending too much money in a specific category, then earmark that expenditure. You’ll call this company and negotiate a lower price, which we’ll talk about next.

Rufus arched an eyebrow, proud of his ingenuity. “But see, Rufus has lots of girls working for him. And if they have money I figure he takes them to an ATM and gets them to clear out the cash. He has one of the clubs in here. A place called Barely Legal. It’s for men who want girls that are—” “I think I can put together what they want. Go on.” “Legal,” Rufus said, raising a finger. “The name is Barely Legal. The key word is legal. All the girls are over eighteen.” “I’m sure your mother must be the envy of her book group, Rufus.” Myron turned back to Katie. “So you thought . . . ?” “I didn’t think. Like I said, I just reacted.” Rufus

I stood in a maze line formed by crushed-velvet ropes and waited my turn. It reminded me of visiting a bank in the days before ATMs. The woman in front of me sported a business suit—at midnight—and big enough bags under her eyes to be mistaken for a bellhop. Behind me, a man with curly hair and dark sweats whipped out a cell phone and started pressing buttons.

Abra wants its payment network to outnumber all physical ATMs in the world.

Another time, a zonal manager told me how a borrower tried to push in actual pins at an ATM that had asked for a PIN to enable cash withdrawal.

In its place had arisen a Promised Land of Duane Reades and Chase ATMs on every corner, luxury doorman buildings, Pilates studios and spin classes, eighteen-dollar rosemary-infused cocktails and seven-dollar cups of single-origin coffee—all of which were there to cater to a new generation of twentysomethings, the data scientists and brand strategists and software engineers and social media managers and product leads and marketing associates and IT coordinators ready to disrupt the world with apps. And today, like every day, they would work until it was dark again, and then they would go to dinner parties or secret cocktail bars or rooftop events, and most of them would end the night watching Netflix on their laptops in bed" - Prologue, Save Your Generation, in Doree Shafrir's Startup

In November 2013, the world’s first Bitcoin ATM opened in Vancouver, Canada.

Here we are today, and bitcoin is taking on the entire banking system, the most powerful industry in the world. Guess what? Bitcoin’s going to win. It’s going to win for a very simple reason. It’s not just going to win because it’s better. It’s not just going to win because the banking system is run by gangsters, crooks, and some of the most immoral empty suits in the world. It’s not just going to win because the banking system has spent the last 50 years delivering just two consumer innovations — ATMs and credit cards — and then spent the rest of the time trying to figure out how to fleece you. It’s going to win because it’s open. In a world of tinkers, of experimenters, of makers, open wins. The reason it wins is that it allows innovation to flourish at the edges.

The interesting finds are that the 7-repeat people: hold fewer funds in savings; are less likely to pay off credit card balances each month; withdraw more cash than needed at the ATM; are less likely to use a debit card instead of a credit card; and are less likely to purchase overdraft protection.

Identify yourself, please.” Lucky Dragon ATMs all had this same voice, a weird, uptight, strangled little castrato voice, and he wondered why that was. But you could be sure they’d worked it out: probably it kept people from standing around, bullshitting with the machine. But Rydell knew

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Evaluate your daily activities and keep making changes where applicable, atm this is the common evaluation :% social media % exercise % work

ATMs in 2016? (Source: ATMMarketplace.com)

Others were behavioral. For instance: a potential terrorist was unlikely to withdraw money from an ATM on a Friday afternoon, during Muslim prayer services.

Wenn wir nicht zusammen sind, habe ich das Gefühl, dass ich kaum atme«, flüsterte sie. »Und das heißt, wenn ich dich am Montagmorgen sehe, kommt es mir so vor, als hätte ich in sechzig Stunden nur einmal geatmet. Wahrscheinlich bin ich deswegen so missmutig und schnauze dich an. Wenn wir getrennt sind, denke ich nur an dich, und wenn wir zusammen sind, bin ich nur panisch. Weil mir jede Sekunde so wichtig vorkommt. Und weil ich so außer mir bin, dass ich nicht anders kann. Ich gehöre nicht mal mehr mir, ich gehöre dir, und was wäre, wenn du dich entschließt, dass du mich nicht willst? Du kannst mich gar nicht so sehr wollen wie ich dich.«

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Another tip to weld society together. Give the person up to bat at the ATM plenty of space so they’re not nervous about you peeking at their PIN number or slipping a blade between their ribs the second the money spits out.

Andy Dietz, who is on the staff of a church in the panhandle of Texas, has been coordinating mission trips overseas for many years. On one particular trip with his young people, the project had been finished, and the kids had left for home, but Andy stayed over to visit with missionary friends in the area. He was coming back through a European city on his way home. Having an overnight transit, he went downtown for dinner, found himself in the wrong part of town, and was mugged and kidnapped. After taking all his money, and all he could get from the ATM machine, his captors had him wire his family to ask for $5,000 to secure his release. His family notified us, and we activated a prayer network and contacted our personnel in the city who were not even aware he was there. They notified the police, but before anything could be done, Andy was able to elude his captors and get away while they were eating and drinking. I called him after he got home to talk through the experience and seek to minister to him. I asked him, after such a traumatic experience, if he thought he would go on any more mission trips. He said, “Oh yes. It's the most gratifying thing I do to take these kids overseas.” He continued, “I was negligent and learned that I have got to be more vigilant about where I go.” He described what it was like to be beaten, tied up, put in the trunk of a car, and his life threatened. He said, “They didn't know me. Nobody knew where I was. I meant nothing to them. My life was worthless. I realized they wouldn't think twice about getting rid of me, and no one would know.” He continued, “You can imagine how desperate I was to get away. And all I could think of was God saying, 'Andy, this is how desperate you should be to know Me.'” I held the phone in disbelief. I can only imagine the extent of desperation to escape a situation where your life is threatened. Can you imagine being so desperate to know God in all of His fullness, to have a heart that is so passionate for Him and His holiness? I think that's the only thing that will be a fail-safe deterrent to immoral behavior. We are always vulnerable; Satan will see to that, but in Christ we have been given the capacity to walk in holiness and victory.

Grace is not currency dispensed from an impersonal, computerized ATM. Grace is deeply personal, it is glue, securing the branch of our Christian life into the trunk of Christ’s all-sufficiency. Grace binds us to the person of Christ, to his vital life, and to the full spectrum of his all-sufficient benefits.

He laughs all the way to the bank. I cry at the ATM.

According to MacKenzie, it has a French chef, a Starbucks, riding stables, a spa, a helicopter landing pad, and a plaza of designer boutiques so kids can shop during lunch and after school hours. And get this! She said her school has ATM machines in every hall, right next to drinking fountains that dispense seven different fruit-flavored waters. But

Whether we make our own money or rely on someone else, many of us would rater pretend our financial matters don't exist. Or we hope they'll just take care of themselves somehow. My ex-husband was like that. He always said, "I bank by prayer. I go to the ATM and pray that money will come out.

They watched in rapt silence as the car window lowered. The angle was a bit odd—above the car and from the machine’s point of view—but there was no doubt. Chad Coldren was the driver. He leaned out the window and put his card in the ATM machine slot. His fingers tripped across the buttons like an experienced stenographer’s. Young