Look out. Me again.
Cash Machines
What is it with people in front of you at the queue for a cash point machine? What the hell are they doing that takes so damn long? Is it just me? Am I so completely unlucky that these people just happen to make up the queue in front of me? Is it a global consipiracy and they are just hiding round the corner on the occasion that I have to get some cash, buy some bread, drop off my prescription note and get to work all in about 20 minutes flat because I had to see the end of Car Booty before leaving?
I am used to the whole password thing. Many years ’supporting” a moderate sized PC network has dulled the edge of the anger that use to fill me up from socks. Many a PC user jots down their password on a post-it note and fixes it to the bottom of their monitor. Yes, this password is usually their date of birth or the name of a loved one. Yes, this is stupid but it happens and we all need to live in the world that is rather than the one we wish existed.
I forgotten what I was talking about now..
Oh yes.
Pins. Note I didn’t say Pin Number, something even the banks do now in their letters.
P=Personal
I=Identification
N=Number
Pin Number would be Personal Identification Number Number. Grrrrrrrrrr
Anyway. Back to the story.
Pins. 4 flippin numbers. FOUR. How freekin’ hard is it to remember 4 numbers? About as hard as letting off. Someone this morning had to get a little bit of paper out of their wallet and hold it up to the light to read it clearly. Just when you though this idiot couldn’t dive even deeper into the cretin pool he read it aloud. I was 4th in the queue and I heard it.
Why do people who wear glasses never actually have them to hand? He quite clearly couldn’t read the bloody display. It wasn’t sunny. It wasn’t a dull, long ago faded green screen job, it was a new colour display.
His terrified fingers squashed out his PIN one slow number after another. Each time he placed his turgid, annoying features mere cm’s from the screen to check his progress. I swear to god, I could have done a lap of the building in between each number and still done it faster.
Obviously the machine was eventually satisfied with his credentials, if not his technical ability because we at last reached stage two of his Mission Impossible. More blessed choices. Once more the nose was pressed close to the screen and my fellow queue members drifted one step close to Deep Vein Thrombosis.
The fear and confusion in his face was palpable and he was in serious need of a hug from the person behind. I can only conclude that he was worried that the pressing of an incorrect button would result in a catastrophe of global proportions. It had been at least a minute now and no button had been impressed. We were all convinced that any second now, the machine would think he had either died, gone home or been beaten senseless by one of us and the screensaver would kick in.
We should’nt have given up on him.
Beep.
Man. It was like VE day all over again. We cheered, cried and danced with a nearby sailor. We didn’t care who saw.
As long as I live I will retell of the day that the old man in front of me decided he wanted to check his balance.
But on screen or on paper?
Beep.
He was on a roll.
The slowest printer in the world eventually spat out a little piece of paper. Unnoticed at first. A kind word from the person behind him and it was in his hand. It was like a parable from the bible. Blessed be the person behind him. Show him the paper and he will go forth and take out some cash sayeth the lord.
Beep. Beep. Beep…….Beep….Beep. Whirrr…Whirrr…
Music to our ears. It had only been 6 minutes.
My hat had not had time to return to earth again before we hit a stumbling point.
The money had not come out and he had not realised the machine was waiting for him to retrieve his card from the slot. Once again the person behind came to our rescue and pointed it out to him. He retrieved it and spent at least 2 minutes slotting it back into his wallett. All the while the machine was beeping. The beep got progressively louder. I knew what that meant. I am pretty sure the guy in front of me knew what that meant but I don’t think Mr Cretin at the front or the kindly person behind knew.
Clunk.
The draw that opened with his cash promptly shut. To die, wet myself or beat him death with my wholegrain crusty bloomer. What to do?
Well, I am writing this, I am still wearing the same pants and I had a sandwich for lunch so obviously good sense prevailed.
So what happened in the end?
Well, he saw the cash being taken back into the machine. He swore, looked around and for the first time noticed the queue behind him.
“It’s broken. The bloody thing is broken.”
“Try in the shop mate” said one young builder type bloke who I now love. Off he went and the queue shot forward. Within in mere minutes the whole queue had satiated their desire for funds.
What happened after I will never know. I know the shop have no interest, desire or access to or of the cash machine so they probably shrugged their shoulders in that British lack of customer service way they have and sent him off to his bank to complain.
Why do old people who don’t work always go to the post office or the bank or the cash machine between 12 and 1?
Why do I always have to watch the end of Car Booty?
Is anyone listening?
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