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.