I’m out of touch with touch screens
I studied the menu board as I ambled up the counter. But before I could get the word “Quesadilla” out, the teenage punk behind the cash register spoke first: “You have to use the kiosk to order.” He pointed behind me at one of those infernal touch-screen machines. Forty-some years ago, I used to drop quarters into boxes much like that one so that I could use a joystick to send Pac-Man whooshing through a maze to eat ghosts. Now, if I want to eat, I gotta stand at a stupid kiosk that has neither joy nor joystick, and tap photos of what I want to eat. And I don’t insert ...