Thank you for taking six extra minutes off my life because you actually still write checks at the supermarket for two cans of cat food and one piece of fruit that I don’t even recognize. As I stare at you thinking that it must have been rough during WWI, I can’t help but feel as though you’ve earned the right to hold up the line by writing a check, and yet I still hate you. It’s not like I have anywhere to be, I’m just impatient, over weight and easily irritated. It’s funny because the old men in the supermarket don’t write checks, however they take six minutes off of your life in a different but equally irritating  way. They dig in there old man trousers for the exact change pulling one coin out at a time and then looking over their glasses at the register after each coin is presented to the cashier. When the bill is paid, you then have to wait while they return their bill fold to their pocket and ignore the cashiers “have a nice day” remark as they move in slow motion towards their bag of hard candy and t.v. dinners. Let’s face it though, both situations are better than them trying to use the credit card machine, it would be faster to get approved for a home loan. I know I’ll be there one day, but it ain’t today.