Generation Alpha at an ATM

I didn't know, Bea didn't know.

Bea: Mom, can we go to the ATM so I can change my PIN? I forgot about my Christmas money.

From the parked car, I watch as Bea stands in front of an ATM on Laurel Canyon Boulevard. She’s taking forever and pressing too many buttons but I’m not going to helicopter-mom her. She is fifteen, she knows I’m here and hasn’t turned for help.

Finally, the machine opens. Bea looks in the machine, she takes the money, pauses and smiles at the machine as though it’s a person.

She doesn’t turn around.
She continues pressing buttons.
The machine opens, again.

Again, she smiles dementedly at the machine as she grabs more money. A third time, she taps some buttons and more money comes out of the machine.

I begin to worry about my child, standing on the busy street, playing slot machine for her family Christmas money. Unarmed, vulnerable and carrying cash, Bea swings around to face me.

“NO!” I yell, as she card-spreads her cash into an enormous fan, and fans herself.

”WE ARE GOING TO DIE!”

I reach across the car and open her door.

”PUT THAT AWAY, YOU’RE GOING TO GET US KILLED.”

Bea slides into the car, still beaming. She’s ecstatic.

”MOM!” She stuffs the money in her hoodie pocket as I power lock the doors and begin to drive.

“I didn’t know the machines gave cash. I thought you could just do your banking. This is incredible.”

”Well, now someone is going to follow us home and rob us. Babe, you cannot ever act like that at an ATM, my fault for not telling you before hand and only using APPLE PAY, but have you heard of self-preservation?”

Bea laughs, realizing exactly what she’d done in her daze of money.

And she says, in her best Valley fry,

”Forgive me. I’m just a girl.”