So I read City AM, but I need to keep the review to myself. The writing, the striking imagery and flowing, transcendent descriptions of everyday humanity has turned my hate-fuelled liver into more than merely an organ spewing bile, but into something pitch-perfect, humming with life and spreading nothing but rainbows and joy. I love City AM, and you can’t ever take that away from me.
I went to a ‘not-for-you-proles’ branch of Citibank today to try and coerce some money from one of their machines. It was unfailingly polite – the machine greeted me with a ‘Good Morning’, and then, when I put my card in ‘How may I help you?’
There’s something about polite machines that make me very nervous. I guess it reminds me of ‘HAL’ from 2001 Colon A Space Odyssey which scared me shitless as a child. So I blame Stanley Kubrick for this particular phobia. I had a Texas Instruments ‘Speak and Spell’ as a child too but that didn’t scare me at all, because everything that machine said was with an air of digitised superciliousness, a voice that made it perfectly clear ‘I am cleverer than you and I am giving you the answers simply because it suits me to.’ Fine. At least I knew where I stood.
This Citibank cashy though – well, this one could charm you out of your Calvins in ten seconds flat, and then devour you while you slept, sucking first your soul and then your very flesh into its smaller than letterbox sized cheque-depository slot, crunching your bones into its innards and then spewing you out in mirth every time someone hit the ‘GBP 5.00’ button.
I hit the ‘GBP 10.00’ button, more in hope than anticipation, and another message came up ‘Please wait a moment!’ Now on this one, it was the exclamation mark that gave me the shivers. This machine is trying to be light-hearted. Either that, or it had already read my balance and just wanted to let me down slowly. This message was followed by the cash sliding out of the slot shaped like the mouth of a blank-faced emoticon, and a further message ‘Can I help you with anything else today?’
Of course you can’t. You have given me cash - the sole purpose of your existence - what else could you possibly do for me? This is the ultimate question - what, after you have received the cash you have requested, could a cash machine possibly do for you? Cheque deposit? Don’t be ridiculous, no one uses cheques any more and if you do, then wake up buddy, its 2013.
I took the situation in hand and jabbed the ‘No’ button in irritation, taking the money and then my card, feeling more in control. ‘See you next time!’ The machine bid me a cheery goodbye. I turned my back on it, ignoring the twinge of guilt that nagged at my conscience, and left to buy a filter coffee and an egg and sundried tomato breakfast baguette from Pret. Nearly a fiver down already. I guess I’ll have to face the politeness machine again tomorrow.
Speaking of machines, here is a list of my Top Eight favourite Nokia Handsets:
8. N-Gage
7. 3210
6. 1100
5. 6210 Navigator
4. N900
3. 8210
2. 9210i Communicator
1. 7110
I went to a ‘not-for-you-proles’ branch of Citibank today to try and coerce some money from one of their machines. It was unfailingly polite – the machine greeted me with a ‘Good Morning’, and then, when I put my card in ‘How may I help you?’
There’s something about polite machines that make me very nervous. I guess it reminds me of ‘HAL’ from 2001 Colon A Space Odyssey which scared me shitless as a child. So I blame Stanley Kubrick for this particular phobia. I had a Texas Instruments ‘Speak and Spell’ as a child too but that didn’t scare me at all, because everything that machine said was with an air of digitised superciliousness, a voice that made it perfectly clear ‘I am cleverer than you and I am giving you the answers simply because it suits me to.’ Fine. At least I knew where I stood.
This Citibank cashy though – well, this one could charm you out of your Calvins in ten seconds flat, and then devour you while you slept, sucking first your soul and then your very flesh into its smaller than letterbox sized cheque-depository slot, crunching your bones into its innards and then spewing you out in mirth every time someone hit the ‘GBP 5.00’ button.
I hit the ‘GBP 10.00’ button, more in hope than anticipation, and another message came up ‘Please wait a moment!’ Now on this one, it was the exclamation mark that gave me the shivers. This machine is trying to be light-hearted. Either that, or it had already read my balance and just wanted to let me down slowly. This message was followed by the cash sliding out of the slot shaped like the mouth of a blank-faced emoticon, and a further message ‘Can I help you with anything else today?’
Of course you can’t. You have given me cash - the sole purpose of your existence - what else could you possibly do for me? This is the ultimate question - what, after you have received the cash you have requested, could a cash machine possibly do for you? Cheque deposit? Don’t be ridiculous, no one uses cheques any more and if you do, then wake up buddy, its 2013.
I took the situation in hand and jabbed the ‘No’ button in irritation, taking the money and then my card, feeling more in control. ‘See you next time!’ The machine bid me a cheery goodbye. I turned my back on it, ignoring the twinge of guilt that nagged at my conscience, and left to buy a filter coffee and an egg and sundried tomato breakfast baguette from Pret. Nearly a fiver down already. I guess I’ll have to face the politeness machine again tomorrow.
Speaking of machines, here is a list of my Top Eight favourite Nokia Handsets:
8. N-Gage
7. 3210
6. 1100
5. 6210 Navigator
4. N900
3. 8210
2. 9210i Communicator
1. 7110
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