The Height of Annoyance
What the hell man? Why why why are counters always the wrong height? I think this is a deep conspiracy in need of some thorough tin-hat investigation.
Ponder this next time you're out and about, running those pesky errands that you've been putting off for days and weeks, choosing to lay around and binge watch Animal Kingdom or Supernatural instead of doing what you know you need to do to be on the right side of the adulting equation.
You battle through your post-torture brain fog and ask for a pen. She slides a florescent pink, fake flower-topped ball point at you. The fake flower deters you from stealing the stellar writing implement. Then you realize that in order to sign the fucking thing you have to get up on your tip-toes. The damn counter is built for giants. It sits about neck level. Why? Are they afraid to see your boobs. Do they have a boob-fear in this particular establishment? Were they traumatized during breast-feeding as children? Or, are they a specialty practice that only sees NBA players? Did they let you in by accident? Did they just assume you were a phenomenal point guard with a wicked jump shot and bouncy Air Jordans?
Exhibit #1: The Dentist's Office
Okay, so you're finally at the dentist. You've suffered through an excruciating cleaning torture inflicted by a cheerful hygienist who has just made you feel like a child who doesn't understand what a toothbrush is. (More on my theory of dentistry in another post.) You're at the counter, getting ready to pay your deductible and set up the next torture appointment, feeling like you've traveled to the depths of purgatory and then been thrust into the blinding light of day. The perky receptionist asks if you want a little card with your next appointment to lose in the depths of your purse. Then she pushes a form at you to sign to agree to let them do something or other with your dental records - I don't know - sell them to Wikileaks or the Russians - who gives a shit.You battle through your post-torture brain fog and ask for a pen. She slides a florescent pink, fake flower-topped ball point at you. The fake flower deters you from stealing the stellar writing implement. Then you realize that in order to sign the fucking thing you have to get up on your tip-toes. The damn counter is built for giants. It sits about neck level. Why? Are they afraid to see your boobs. Do they have a boob-fear in this particular establishment? Were they traumatized during breast-feeding as children? Or, are they a specialty practice that only sees NBA players? Did they let you in by accident? Did they just assume you were a phenomenal point guard with a wicked jump shot and bouncy Air Jordans?
Exhibit #2: The Eye Doctor
The opposite of the dentist counter problem occurs at the eye doctor. The damn counter is built for Ewoks. Too tall to use when sitting in one of their uncomfortable chairs, but too short to reach without throwing out your back. I'm nearsighted, so this is not conducive to signing crap. I have to lean down to see stuff. My lower back is not built for this. No average sized full-grown adult is built for this. So, I assume the counter is this height for the lazy-assed person on the other side of the counter to be able to sit all damn day but not for the convenience of their clientele; the people they are charging $500 for glasses that will only be used after sleeping in non-extended wear contacts because we were too drunk to remember to take out our contacts.Exhibit #3: Food Trucks
Okay this is just a giant pain in the ass, but I think I get why the counter is so high; something to do with the truck wheel wells. I don't fucking know. Still, you'd think that after watching customer after customer spill their special hoisin dipping sauce down the front of their shirt or scalding themselves with the ooey-gooey melted cheese, they would find a workaround.
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