Are you guys getting options at the ATM that I don’t see? Because I think you’re all pushing far more than 4 buttons right off the bat. Is that an option? A 12-digit PIN?
And you know, before we go any further, it’s Personal Identification Number. So it’s not a Pin Number. That would be a Personal Identification Number Number. An ATM Machine, by the way, is an Automatic Teller Machine Machine. Even in the names of these things we’ve got redundancy going on out the ass.
But what, when the screen pops up, do you see?
Because I’m getting something like
Get Cash
Get $40 of cashCheck Balance
and then some third thing with an asinine idea like “Hook up your account to your Netflix so that you can watch movies based on your spending habits” or some such bullshit. You can just ignore those. If you’re not sure, it’s a bad idea. Trust me. If they could earn a dime off it, you can bet your sorry life there would be a button that caused a huge boxing glove covered in live hornets to pop out of the wall and destroy your face permanently.
You know what else I love about the checking balance thing? I guarantee you that when people push that button, they know. Believe me, they know whether or not that $20 is coming out before they check. So what’s with that? Are you just making sure that you’re casting the appropriate amount of shame on yourself before taking that $20? That you know you’ll be down to $7?
It blows my mind that this procedure still takes so long.
And the worst, oh the worst, is when this motherfucker using the terminal takes a moment to look back and see what I’m doing. Yeah, I’m waiting for you. To finish there. Gawk at my dumb head later. Get our your money that you’re going to use to buy Surge or whatever power soda people are drinking in May of 2013. Don’t worry, I’ll wait. I understand the importance of getting this money to buy an energizing soda to power your body through the rest of its miserable day. I get it. IIIIIIIII get it.
Just speed it the fuck up, okay? Instead of owning the ATM, dominating that shit the way you would dominate a basketball court but obviously don’t because people who dominate a court that hard never use an ATM that’s outside of that hallway between the bathrooms in a strip club, how about instead of doing that you pretend like someone is waiting for you and critiquing every little part of you, a critique that grows more harsh and personal every second. It starts with me hating the license plate frame on your car and ends with me imagining dipping your firstborn into a whirring food processor filled part way with acid. THIS DOES NOT TAKE LONG.