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Kiosk

I confess I hate it. We all do, standing there all smug, waiting to disappoint, suggesting efficiency, only to crush your very soul. You first approach the receptionist, never looking up mumbles, “Please check in at the,” you dread the next word, “Kiosk.” Turning, you see, standing alone in a darkened corner, the nemesis. It hates you! You with your flip phone. Fading eyesight, and undiagnosed health issue.

I swear it snickered. The screen dimly lit, words appear, demanding compliance, questioning your very purpose. Do this, type that, place the insurance card below, flip, submit, and, “ERROR.” The screen darkens.

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