Lesson 1 writing exercise

Today I was waiting in line at the local ATM. The cash machines are located, side by side, in three by five foot air-conditioned booths behind painted glass doors. Once inside it takes me about fifteen seconds to insert the debit card, key in the PIN and amount to be withdrawn. Another fifteen seconds spent waiting while banking electronics does its wizardry, spits out cash, the receipt and returns the card. All else being equal, I am in and out in under sixty seconds. I have noted cultures view ATM etiquette in decidedly different ways. This morning five people (two plump women in spandex, one teenage girl also in spandex, and two young children) all pack themselves into one booth. For the next five plus minutes everyone outside waits, the line grows longer. From inside the crowded booth come loud conversation and much exclaiming. At last all five silently exit and walk away. I look around and notice no one seem to think this the least bit unusual. I’m am left to wonder how an ATM booth can become a social venue. Maybe they just won a lottery. That might be a great start to a human interest story.

Another Saturday morning. Up early the wife and I untangle ourselves, climb out of bed and head for the shower. Dressed, bed made, room swept and with a banana in hand we exit onto a small covered balcony. We give the banana to a large gray squirrel that has been waiting patiently on a tree branch that passes close by. (Squirrels love bananas; who knew.) We clamber down metal stairs into the cool light dappled garden with its many brightly colored orchids and stop to unlock, open and secure behind us a metal gate. The movement and noise disturb a cloud of contentious emerald and ruby colored hummingbirds vying for spots at a homemade feeder. Passing down the buildings side we cross a small front lawn with its aromatic rose beds baking in the morning sunlight. We pause to open a sheet steel door that exits onto the street. Stepping out we greet the raucous dusty world. Closing the door behind us with a loud clang we lock it and are off. Our destination is the weekly farmers market, five blocks away. We are after a weeks supply of fresh produce. Yep. Just another Saturday morning in the barrio and another farmers market.


This afternoon I am waiting patiently with several other people to cross the street. Just as the little man in the signal turns green a bus moves across the walkway and hits a car backing onto the street. Behind the bus is a police car. It narrowly misses slamming into the bus. The stage is set. The drivers of both car and bus are out of their vehicles in seconds. The confrontation involves much arm waving and shouting. The bus driver, who appears a little intoxicated, punches the car’s driver in the nose. The chase is on. They go around the bus several times before they are joined by the two police officers who take up hot pursuit yelling and waving night sticks. The crowd grows cheering, shouting and yelling advice. It takes another two circuits of the bus before the drama ends; mostly because everyone including the police are out of breath. All four participants end up sitting on the curb, chatting amiably, waiting for support vehicles to arrive. It is several minutes before I can stop laughing. Buster Keaton and the Keystone Cops would have been proud. I immediately think of this writing class.