SELF-SERVE GETS ON MY LAST NERVE

SO DO OTHER PEOPLE’S GERMS!!!

The only place self-service belongs is at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I try to get there right after the doors open. That’s when the food and utensils are less likely to be touched by other patron’s germy fingers. And I always hope the staff scrubbed-up well before the food prep.  

It also annoys me when my computer or TV is on the fritz, then the cable company insists on giving me instructions over the phone on how to fix it myself. I’m not a technical person and I don’t feel comfortable messing around with a bunch of wires. I worry I’m going to disconnect the wrong one, the contraption will explode and I’ll be standing there with fried hair, covered in soot, doing the electric sizzle shake. – And that’s a best case scenario!

Now I read that soon we’ll all be scanning our own groceries. – I don’t even like pumping my own gas! Touching that handle grosses me out. Imagine how germy that thing must be! You never know where the fingers of the previous persons have been.

It reminds me of those men who ferret thru your suitcases at the airport. They should be forced to wear gloves! For all you know they could have been picking their noses or worse. Later, you’re liable to find boogers in your underwear.

Of course that could happen now with your groceries as well. And how do we really know for sure if those cashiers wash their hands in the restroom. There’s no camera over the sink. But I always figure anything unpleasant on their fingers will come off on the groceries of the people in front of me.

However, if I am going to be scanning my own groceries, I want the cashier’s salary! It’s only fitting since I’m doing their job! At the very least, I should get a big discount! But I’m not holding my breath. It is for the store’s convenience and bottom line, not mine.

This heinous trend like many others began in the 1970’s and has gotten worse ever since. Returning from vacation, I dropped 6 rolls of film on a drugstore counter to be developed. A separate form was required for each roll. The girl behind the counter shot me an evil glance for each one written up.

“What hostility!” I exclaimed to my dad as we walked away. “I’m never taking my film there again.”

“You made her work.” He laughed. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to do that!”

The following year, I took my vacation film to a photography shop. The young guy there was clearly on something illegal that should remain that way. He was unable to write or retain anything I said. This was a simple task! But the light behind his eyes had a loose bulb. And worse he was there all alone! Frustrated, I took the paper and pen from his hand and wrote the order up myself. – I sure hope he wasn’t driving himself home!

The next time, I believe it was around 1978, I went to the photography dept. of a new pharmacy. They just shoved the forms at me and tossed over a pen. It’s been the downfall of civilization ever since.