I am not a Luddite.
Sure, I have a Masters degree in English literature. I can quote Shakespeare like a fiend. I know a ridiculous amount about Elizabethan theater, which I'll never share with anyone, lest I bore them to tears.
And yes, I'm a librarian. (I know, I know - to a lot of people, that sounds like I should have my hair up in a bun, and my rhinestone glasses hanging over my ample bosom on a chain, so that they can swing back and forth as I raise a dessicated finger to my lips to whisper, "Shhhhhh." Sorry to disappoint you.)
I love technology. It makes my life easier. It helps me to do my job. It entertains me.
But if I could eradicate one single invention of the past century, it would be a machine. A coffee-making machine. A bean-grinding, water-spouting, milk-foaming coffee-making machine.
Or maybe I would just go back in time, so that my boss, Evelyn, had never drunk a latte before.
Don't get me wrong. Evelyn is generally a good boss. She cares about the Peabridge Library. She wants us to succeed. She wants to bring in new patrons and keep them happy and busy and checking out all of our rare Americana.
But if I have to pull one more half-caf, half-decaf, gigantissimo mocha, with full fat whipped cream, skim milk in the drink, with chocolate shavings, a dusting of cinnamon, a touch of vanilla powder, and a swirl of caramel, I am going to scream. Scream so loudly that the ghost of George Washington will hear me. Scream so loudly that my Imaginary Boyfriend will leap out of his chair and come running to the coffee counter, seeking out the source of my agony and terror.
Hmmm... Now maybe the coffee maker isn't such a bad invention after all...