An Open Letter

To the ugly, butch, socially awkward librarian at the the Kennedy (at Riley) Library:

I know that you and all of your co-workers are looking at that salutation wondering, "Which one does she mean?" Exactly. Listen up, all of you, and take note.

As much as I love labored interactions with you at the circulation desk, I love even more your painfully unpleasant tutorials on all things self-checkout. You have dutifully walked me through books--this bar code, not that. DVD's--removal of security case. Holds on my account--looks like you forgot to return this item. But today when I just needed to pay my fines and you said "Oh, that's usually done with self-checkout, have you ever paid a fine with self-checkout before, let me show you" it was the last straw. And so, my wrath is poured out.

1) You stink, like onions and curry, and not in a pleasant, that puts me in the mood for Indian food, kind of way.
2) Pushing the touch screen option buttons HARDER will do nothing but make you look like an idiot. That's why it's called a touch screen.
3) I do not need a step-by-step on how to feed money into a money-eating machine. Do I look like I'm from 1952? Yours is not the only one on the planet, there are others and when you feed them they generally give you something tasty or fizzy in return.
4) You are a public servant and lest you forget, next time I'm refusing to self-checkout. Sorry, no, I can't use the self-checkout. I have no sensitivity in my finger tips. I'm illiterate. I have that disorder where you neglect the right side of your body and I'm right handed. I'm blind and your touch screen has no braille. I'm allergic to lasers. Or, how's this for self-checkout? It's called putting the effing book in my bag and walking out, douche.

Very truly yours,
The feisty redhead who pays your salary in late fees.

P.s. And don't even think I'm going to be using your new self-check IN program when you spring that one next year. Yeah, I've read your Technology Plan.