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Grrrrr, technology.

I went to put a tenner on my finger at lunch today, and I tell you, God is out to get me for all that overeating I've been doing over Christmas. I came out of biology and saw that noone was at the closest machine.

"This must be my lucky day," I thought. WRONG. It was out of order. But, pretty much undeterred, I trudged on to the other one. Thanks to the other machine being out of order, there was a HUGE queue, and I wasn't in the best of moods by the time I got to the front. I slotted my ten pound note in, heard a prolonged, painful-sounding whirring noise, and then the screen changed before the money went onto my account.

I checked my account again, and it stubbornly told me I had £1.10. Bloody brilliant. I'd just lost a tenenr to a machine. Machines don't have to eat. I do. For the next week, thank you very much. So I went and reported it, and was told to come back at the end of the day, and they'd have sorted it out and would have my money.

I had a double free this afternoon, so I left at five past three, to get there a little early. I was greeted with the (concedingly, apologetic) statement that the woman who was sorting the matter out had gone home, becayse she finished at three. Sorry, but I would have to come back in the morning to collect my money.

By now, I was feeling more than a little annoyed, and having had nothing to eat since my bran flakes at a quarter to seven in the morning, I was now more than peckish. I went back to the sixth form area, borrowed a piund off Lauren, and lined up at the machine once more.

Almost ten minutes later, when there was only one person in front of me in the queue, the machine decided to pack in completely. Whoever's finger was placed on the scanner, the machine rudely ignored it, not acknowledging it at all (though, at least, not stealing from its owner).

I gave in.

I hate technology.

I really do.