The Bible study at my church is at 9:15 am. It is HARD to get out of bed before 8 am on a Sunday, particularly when Saturday night is potentially the only night I get out and do stuff. Sunday is also one of the rare occasions when I will put serious thought into dressing nice and doing makeup carefully, and I live 40 minutes away, and this time of year the fire needs attention in the morning, et cetera. These things take time. The study is excellent, though, and I hate missing it.

So, this Sunday, I was out of the house a full 5 minutes early. Miraculous! Of course, I forgot my phone, but I didn't realize that until later when I stopped to make a deposit at the ATM.

There was a mid-range Porsche at the drive-through, which I thought nothing of. We live in an area full of wealthy weekenders, and Porsches are actually as common as Mercedes or BMW. You see the occasional Maserati, Rolls Royce — I find those a little more interesting. 

So, I'm waiting, and they back up, and the driver gets out and goes to stand at the ATM, looking confused, punching buttons. Okay, I figure, the car was too low for him to reach up. 

He has the same look on his face as my parents do when they are having trouble reading something too close, and he has the appearance of a man who does not own the Porsche, but is renting it — 65, clothes too sloppy to be really wealthy. 

And the getting of the cash is taking too long ... so his hooker gets out of the car.

I know what you're going to say! It could be his daughter or his wife! 

But sometimes you know. And I knew. 

This is a family blog, so suffice it to say that her ensemble of diaphanous, rustic tunic and sheer stockings was inappropriate for the time of day (8:45 am on Sunday), the season (late November, bitterly cold, quite windy), and her age (35, trying to appear 22), and none of this went with her shoes (which were the giveaway as to her age — sensible, slip-on clogs). And the cash isn't coming out. They've been standing there, jabbing at the screen, for over 5 minutes now. I'm still watching (I have sunglasses on). Wishing I had my phone because no one is going to believe this. 

The cash never comes out. She clops back to the car, he waves apologetically, they go through the drive-through and pull over again, presumably to negotiate. I realize at this point I am now late, and have no desire to touch the machine they were both poking at, so I peel through and exit the back way, just as ... the police roll up and pull over to the Porsche. There is security cameras trained on the ATM, naturally. I don't know who called what in, but it wasn't me. 

I drove to church, thankful to be in a position where I am not buying nor selling, happy that I was on my way to confess and be absolved of the sins I am responsible for — eager to receive the Lord's body and blood. And I intend to be back there next Sunday for exactly the same reasons. 

By the way, on my way home, I went back to the same ATM. And the screen was malfunctioning. So there's that.