The world has it in for regular-size people, have you noticed? Everything is just out of our reach. As proof I call your attention to the drive-through. The twisting and contorting these conveniences require are disconcerting, to say the least. A person could dislocate something important, like a spleen or a boob in the process.
Now I’m not short, I’m 5’ 7” — average height for a girl. My arms and legs are in relative proportion to the rest of me, neither abnormally short nor unusually long. However, in the eyes of those who design and plan drive-throughs, I’m an under-sized, short-armed runt. You are, too, probably.
ATMs are the worst. They sit about four feet from the car window, behind hulking, reinforced concrete stanchions. The stoopid keypad is recessed another five inches beyond that. To touch a key, you’d need the wingspan of a Cessna. A person with a standard arm length? Well, good luck. For us, the ATM keypad and its promise of cash are like the Brass Ring — just out of reach.
When I finally maneuver the car close enough to the machine, I put the window down and take out my debit card. This is the starter’s pistol. I struggle out of the safety belt, twist under the steering wheel, and wind up sticking halfway out the car window. I teeter there, grabbing at air. These are not glorious moments, folks. Especially considering a security camera is recording my every squirming, wriggling move. Hello, security people, hello in there.
And let’s not forget fast food drive-throughs. You almost need to reach into the next county to get your change. And when your food is ready, does the goofball working the window hand it to you? No, he does not. He holds the bag like a dog treat, just out of reach. He wants to see you jump for it. Well, I’m not going to jump, pal. Not for that.
After a visit to one of these oases of modern convenience, I feel like the human equivalent of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Someone with short, useless, miniature arms. Think about it, is there any wonder they became extinct? With those baby arms, they couldn’t reach their food, either. Or their money. Poor prehistoric bastards.
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