I trained my brain not to care about nudity at work. It’s like going to the beach
ATMs? Cue a slice of Irish life in the raw
Pat Fitzpatrick finds no cheer stuck behind cashpoint cards
By Pat Fitzpatrick
Sunday May 11 2008
SHOW me the money! We topped another Euro table last week, when it was revealed that we use ATMs far more than the rest of Europe. I suppose it makes a change from being champions of binge drinking and sexually transmitted diseases, but we are wasting our lives in ATM queues while we grow to hate our fellow Irishmen and women.
There is the guy at the top of the queue who keeps taking on and off his glasses to check something written on his hand, punching a key every 10 seconds with a scowl on his face, until the machine makes a loud honking noise and takes his card. The girl after him gets cash out quickly, but then produces a second card and rings her friend, Tanya. It emerges from the call that Tanya has downed 18 Bacardi Breezers, would love to shag some guy called Lenny and can't remember her PIN. The machine takes her card. It starts raining.
Next up is a peculiarly old man who takes out €10, before producing two gas bills and an ESB bill. As the rain goes horizontal, he turns to explain to you that, with all this technology, you no longer need to go to the bank to pay your bills. You stop yourself from shouting, "It's half eleven at night, you daft coot," and smile indulgently as he pays a bit off each bill.
The woman in front of you goes up, punches in her details, looks at the screen for a few seconds and then bursts out crying, for two minutes. She then apologises to the queue before ringing someone called Kevin and repeatedly shouting, "You thieving bastard!" down the phone at him.
At this point Tanya arrives, alcopop in hand, and crashes the queue in front of you. As she tells the homeless guy sitting under the machine that he has a nice smile, you wonder if you might not be better off living in Denmark.
- Pat Fitzpatrick
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