Lucre · 23 January 2002
I’m useless with money: I have no respect for it. It falls through my fingers like water. When I was a kid, after I’d gorged through my Halloween candy in a couple days, my brother – who had stockpiled and waited – would begin selling me his; and I would pay.
I don’t do lineups at all well, where money is involved. If I’m standing behind you when you’re buying your fat ass a Whopper Cheese combo and you proceed upon hearing the total to indulge in the convenience of a cashless transaction with card swipe and PIN, I’m going to bore holes into the back of your head with my eyes and call you names. This has happened.
It’s not that I think people shouldn’t pay 30 cents a pop for the convenience of a cashless transaction – your funeral, Seymour – but in the arena of modern living it is singularly loathsome behaviour to delay others – who are after all just as eager to get on with their day as you – with your own need for convenience. Go to a machine. They’re everywhere.
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