FUNNY STORY AT THE ATM MACHINE!

There were at least two dozen sweaty faces behind me. The line ahead was nearly as long. I wondered if there was still money in the machine. The headache was growing up to be a migraine. Sweat beads dribbled up and down my skin like soccer players at injury time.

"E be like say ATM na to carry mat come o!" Another voice said.

It was forty-eight hours to the new year. It was either I was going to remain a law abiding citizen or I was going to go to jail for savagely beating someone to death at an ATM.

I was seriously leaning towards the latter.

The fat woman at the machine had more than three cards with her and seemed to be receiving a how-to-use-an-ATM-machine tutorial from another fat woman.

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"Abi na MMM she dey do?"came the radioactive breath of a girl close me. I didn't bother turning around. If the stench was that bad from behind, I wasn't optimistic my face would survive a frontal assault.

I considered going into the bank again, but then I remembered the unholy stench of body and mouth odors inside coupled with coffin-like heat. I decided to wait it out.

Eventually, the fat woman and her 'tutor' left.

 The next eight people were mercifully fast. It looked like I was finally going to use the ATM after all.

Then came the smallish man.

I firmly hold the view that trouble-makers are born, not made. That being said, they're easy to spot. Not like they come with stickers or anything(which would actually make life easier) but  you can pick them out in crowd on sight.


Ever seen a total stranger on the street and thought, Him/she dey like pesin wey go like wahala oh?

Well...this smallish man fit the bill. He looked like someone who could cause a fist-fight at a church service. With his grey oversized jacket--or coat, he stepped up to the machine as if this were his coronation ceremony. He made quite a show of bringing out his ATM card. Then he paused to stare at the crowd as if expecting an applause or something.

"Na craze-man b dis?" Miss foul breath said.

I covered my nose and wondered the same thing.

The Racoon-like man typed in slow-motion; tapping the buttons (five seconds apart) like he had all the time in the world. On top of that, he was singing to himself:

"...my bank alert na Kpakam...!"

I'm pretty certain we all  shared the same flabbergasted expression.

After five minutes (that seemed like fifty) he brought out his card from the machine and just stood there.

Was this guy nuts?

I and the rest of the mob were beyond dumbfounded.

He popped out another ATM card from his pocket and switched to another song:

"...I no be Casanova, but I like woman...!"

"Bros if dat card near d machine, I go carry teeth chop you," said the traditional-wrestler-like man in front of me.

Mr smallish threw him a quick Jason-Statham glance and returned to the machine.


"Youngman, respect yasef!"

The air was thick with impending violence. If the size of Mr Wrestler's arms were anything to go by, the chances of Mr Smallish seeing the 2017 were slim. Unless he was actually Jason Statham in disguise. In which case, Mr Wrestler was screwed.

Mr Wrestler was a bomb about to go off. I'd noticed him earlier; his eyes were blood-red and I was fairly certain he could chew and swallow a hand grenade if he were hungry enough.

And he looked pretty hungry to me.

He took a measured step towards Mr Smallish.
"Bros, you wan fall ma hand?"

Mr Smallish was either deaf, suicidal...or  stupid. He fished into the pocket of his coat and produced three more ATM cards. "Do your wors--."

Mr Wrestler shoved him aside like he were made of cardboard paper. Smallish stumbled and crashed into the nearby wall.

"AH....!" Smallish was shocked scared and angry. "Are you crazy?"

WHACK! Came a slap from the wrestler.

A slap from any another person might've rocked Mr smallish a bit, but one from Mr Wrestler's hand was like being hit by a battering-ram.

The next few seconds went by in a brutal blur of heavy blows, body slams and screams. It ended with Mr Smallish sitting on the ground with a busted nosed and the front of his shirt torn-up. He'd lost one of his shoes.   Coupled with the harmattan,he could've passed for a homeless person . Mr Wrestler huffed and puffed over him. "You wan fall ma hand? YOU DEY MADT?"

Mr Smallish didn't seem capable of responding. He slowly rose to his feet and limped away leaving about five ATM cards littered on the ground.

Weirdest thing? No one gave him a second look.

As he limped passed me, we caught eyes.
"Sorry..." I said.

His broken lip managed a smile, then he slowly made for the road.

"Abeg, who dey line?" Toxic breath said. "Do make we comot from here!"

Mr Wrestler proceeded to use the machine.


Believe it or not, he had three ATM cards. He must've stood there for another twenty minutes. After seeing what happened to Mr smallish, no one was inclined to complain.

The Muscular man worked in silence.

When he was done, he went off to a corner and lit a cigarette.

I'd just inserted My card into the machine, when I heard the first gunshots.

Say what you will about fire-works i.e Knockouts, but everyone knows the sound of a gun any day.

I caught a glimpse of Mr Smallish and three armed men charging towards us.

"IF YOU MOVE, I MOVE YOU!" The lead man said.

I heard another gunshot.

A woman screamed and I embraced the ground. When confronted by armed men, this was the universal gesture for 'Please-don't-kill-me.'

I heard bodies being kicked, I heard women and girls whimpering.

I was shaking all over.

"Dat guy!" I heard Mr Smallish say. Something cold and hard pressed against my neck. I froze.

Strong arms hoisted me to my feet. Mr Smallish had a merciless expression on.
"Go," he said.

I stood there unsure of what I'd heard.

One of his companions waved a handgun at me. "GO!"

I made a mad dash for my car and drove off faster than you could say, "ATM robbery!"

I was five minutes out when I realized I'd left my ATM card in the Machine.

Trust me, I didn't go back.


I wasn't sure why I was spared but
I learned later that after robbing the crowd of people, Mr Smallish and his crew beat Mr Wrestler almost to the point of death.

Well, thankfully queues have reduced since then.

#crazythingsthathappeninnaija


Opustjk.
I dare to be different.
Enough said.