backforthmenu Cash II. I’m searching for a drink in a far aisle when I hear from the back of the 7-11; “GOD DAMN!” in a big, deep voice. I know right away it’s concerning the ATM machine. No other reason to get that mad in a 7-11. I find my drink. I get in line. The mad man has found his way to the register as well. “Where is my GOD DAMNED money!?” He is as big as his voice, upwards of 6 foot 5. And broad. Skin as dark as his mood. Nicely dressed. “I drove all over this g o d d a m n e d place trying to get my money and the g o d d a m n e d machines don’t work. Who do I talk to? I need my GOD DAMNED money!” “Please calm down sir,” says the guy behind the register in a very quiet voice, mono-brow riding low on his forehead. He has no patience for this, though he is controlling himself well—or, possibly, it is the physical size of the man before him that is keeping him cool. “I don’t need to calm down, I need my GOD DAMNED money!” He waves his thick arms, stirring the dust about in the streams of afternoon sunlight. The clerk’s expression is unwavering, “You must calm down sir... it is not the stores machine.” “I drove 100 miles to this GOD DAMNED...” he stops short, wipes his eyes. “and I can’t get my God damned money.” A man behind me pipes up, “There’s an ATM at the bank across the street.” “I KNOW WHERE MY GOD DAMNED MONEY IS!” he yells, turning to look at the now very long line for the first time. His eyes are big and watery. Tired and red. He turns to the clerk again and extends his left hand to him, his voice soft now, “I’m sorry man...” The clerk reluctantly takes the big hand. “I know it’s not your machine, it’s just that... I really need my God damned MONEY!” His voice goes back up to loud by the end of the sentence, his hand pulls away. “All right already,” someone mumbles from the line. The big man extends his hand again, he is at his wits end. The clerk, again, takes it reluctantly. “I’m really sorry my man.” He pauses and holds onto the hand for an uncomfortable amount of time, then lets go. “Will you cash a check?” All eyes roll. “I’m sorry sir, we don’t take checks.” The line lets out a collective groan. “GOD DAMN!” one last time and the big man leaves without his money. Silence. The man at the front of the line is finally given his change. The man pauses, looks at it in his hand and says, “What’s up with all these GOD DAMNED pennies!” 4/25/98