“Alright, give me all your money,” I demanded as I pointed the gun at the machine. “Oh my God!” it said in a startled voice. I think it had fallen asleep on the job. And I don't blame it; I had just been dozing off myself before I decided to carry out the plan that had been slowly developing in my brain over the last few years. “Don't try to call for help or I'll blow the shit out of you!” Normally, I'm not a tough guy but I was sick of this job and I wasn't going to let some heroic cash machine get in the way of my freedom. “Please don't kill me. I've got a microwave and two iPod shuffles at home!” “I don't give a shit! Just give me the money and you won't get hurt.” “Why don't you just take the money out of your safe? Why do you have to be fucking with me?” “Because, goddammit, I forgot the combination. And I know you've got way more money inside of you and I want it now!” I pressed the muzzle of my gun-well, the store's gun- up against the slot where the receipt prints out to show him I meant business. He was so scared the ink began dripping out of it.
