I enjoy order. I like straight lines. And I like things in their place, where I know where to find them. In a world ruled by entropy, I like to assert my small right of individuality by tidying things up.
So, in my ordered Utopia, a persistent source of annoyance for me is the inability of cash machines to dispense notes all facing in the same direction. Surely it should not be beyond the machine-mind to perform this relatively simple task? And yet it is left to me, to sort and shuffle, and organise and collate, before I can transfer the notes, which have been expelled from the machine in such violent chaos into my wallet in a state of tranquil harmony.
Of course, it is not the machine to blame. It is the person loading the machine in the first place.
Who is this faceless anarchist?
© Simon Turner-Tree
Simon Turner-Tree continues to rail against the machine.