Cash Machines

With my wallet in need of some resuscitation, I visited the cash machine.
I hate cash machines. I hate standing behind people and having to guiltily swivel my head away in an exaggerated fashion like Beetlejuice to prove that I am not a thief trying to steal their card PIN as they type it into the machine – even though, if I did see it, it would be of no use to me unless they leave their card in the machine. Knowing a PIN on its own is useless. I could write my PIN here and it would be of no value to you.
I was at the cashpoint waiting for the lady in front of me to finish. Only to find that every time I thought she had, she inserted another card.
I’m not sure what was going on, but she seemed to have more cards than Paul Daniels and was feeding cards into the machine like a zookeeper feeds buns to elephants, making multiple withdrawals.
What the hell?
I’m guessing it was pension day at the local care home and she was the designated G4S delivery service because she had a coat full of purses and wallets… Or there was some criminal activity taking place…?
And then, when she finally moved aside, I found the machine not responding to my cash withdrawal request. Maybe I had witnessed a heist and she had withdrawn all the money?
The machine then said, to the effect, “You seem to be dithering over what you want to do. Do you want to cancel ‘Yes or No?’”
The 3rd button that says “It’s not my fault you’re not responding, you useless piece of mechanical junk” seemed to be missing.
I asked for a mini statement (I’ve read less depressing suicide notes) before joining a long queue of miserable looking people waiting at the bank counter.
I hate technology with a passion. I would join the local Luddite group but apparently you have to book your place online.



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