In your end-o…

It should come to no surprise to anyone who has read any of this blog that I have a dirty mind. It fell into a gutter some years ago and has not been able to get out since. Instead it chose to wallow in the mud and hasn’t looked back. Which is entirely fine, because it makes life more interesting and, in turn, more fun.

With all this new fangled technology it has made my days at work all the more uncomfortable. Only because I think that everyone has a mind as dirty as my own. Which they don’t. But I always feel a little awkward when directing people through making payments with the chips on their credit cards.

Try as I might I can’t come up with a good script that meets the criteria of both appropriate terminology and also my laziness, or in other words, not talking more than is necessary…

The words that come out of my mouth are usually as follows…

You can go ahead and insert it into the bottom…

Or

Insert it into the slot, please…

And then sometimes the card isn’t all the way in the terminal and it can’t read the chip and I have to tell the patient to…

Make sure it’s all the way in…

And then the machine reads it and I say…

Yepp, that’s good.

Because then they ask…

is that good?

And I’m sure no one else thinks  it’s anything other than what it is, but I myself can’t look the little elderly people in the eye during this exchange.

Eyes front.

If you make eye contact it’ll make it weird…

And that’s how my day usually goes. Amongst other sexual inuendos, that I keep to myself, because that’s frowned upon in the work place…

Except for the one patient, who is around my age and has become a friend. He comes to the later appointments on Mondays and he’s usually the only one in the waiting room. Occasionally I will throw pennies at him, because it’s his dream to feel like a cheap hooker. He told me so. And if there is one thing I do in this world it’s making people’s dreams come true…

But that guy, with that guy I explicitly make it as uncomfortable as possible. One day I told him…

I need your money.

And then whispered to him, making direct eye contact…

…that’s right. Stick it in my slot.

For a dude who always has something to say, he just gawked at me and told me he was at a loss for words.

And that, my dear little dirty hipsters, is what you call a win.

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