For some reason, it’s 2015 and we still use paper money and metal coins for currency as though we live in the Tang Dynasty. This antiquated form of paying for things is not the worst thing ever, seeing as my piece of shit Samsung can hardly take a pic half the time I need it to, so could never be dependable enough to serve as my wallet. And I rather not have a chip inserted into my wrist like I’m some purebred Yorkie.
So paper money it is, but this relic of a monetary system brings with it many shortcomings: the germ ridden coins and notes that probably killed your great-uncle last winter; a pocket full of metal heavy enough to require a belt, but still only providing enough funds to buy a coffee and maybe a muffin; and worst of all, shitty people that think ATMs are their personal banker.
The ATM does not loyally stand ready to serve you in order to take away jobs from bank tellers, that’s what the internet is for. It’s there to provide a quick means of spitting out money into your sweaty hands as you imagine all the tacos and meth you can buy with it. That’s it.
The other day, while eagerly imagining my meth taco, I stood patiently waiting my turn in the ATM line. Something that usually should take all of two minutes, as that is the longest it should take to punch in your PIN, language preference, account choice and the amount to withdraw. It’s that simple and takes less time than going for a handwashless pee. But no, this woman proceeded to take what I could only estimate was the length of a typical sitcom, to do her fucking banking. A few steps away stood three tellers with nothing to do. I don’t even think they can surf the web, so really, they are standing there dying to fucking move your money around to other meaningless accounts while trying to convince you to sign up for a new credit card.
Also, thanks to Al Gore and AOL, we have been graced with the gift of the internet, which can do everything and much, much more, than the ATM (except give you cash, which is the ATM’s bread and butter and only real reason to exist). And for those out there that don’t have internet access, or a laptop and a near-by Starbucks, or at worst, access to a bed-bug infested library, go to the fucking teller and make their day. But for the love of all things societal, don’t fucking do it at the ATM and make me wait any longer than I have to for pork infused meth sprinkled generously over a handmade tortilla (I’m not pro meth, but that does sound pretty delicious).
For those who may argue that when the bank is closed the ATM is the only way to cash a cheque, maybe get a real job and stop living off of your grandma’s good will, which is pretty much the only reason anyone ever has a cheque.
Sentence: Anyone caught using an ATM for longer than two minutes will receive a full day at Society Camp. This may seem extreme, but you are wasting peoples’ time and denying bank tellers the only joy they know.
Reform Punishment: Upon your arrival at Society Camp, you will be handed a copy of a new movie starring your favorite actor and written and directed by your favorite writer/director (Bill Murray and Wes Anderson were the right answers). You will be given all day to watch it and told that the movie, the pairs best work, will never be released, so today is your only shot. Accompanying the DVD will be a small child, no older than 20 months. He or she will be responsible for inserting the DVD into the DVD player, finding the right input and ensuring the HDMI cables are properly connected, all while using a universal remote, and you aren’t allowed to give them any direction. After about forty-five minutes of watching them hit the power on and off while laughing maniacally in a dirty diaper that you have to now change, you’ll know how I feel when standing behind your stupid face, while you do your banking at the ATM. And here’s some free advice, stop using a 1-800 number to get weather updates and movie listings.
Embrace the present, or enjoy your time at Society Camp, you monetary Luddite.