One Avatar Too Many

When I was a wee lad trying to wrap my mind around the technological wonder that was the Commodore "PET" computer, my science teacher boasted that all things mundane and menial would soon be handled by the coming silicon age: everything from dispensing money and investment planning, to legions of robots serving martinis to house guests and cleaning up when the party was over.

Given that this particular teacher was also a major Star Wars fanatic, single, drank too much and made what all teachers make (which was a bit less than what I made for mowing lawns), he can be excused for a little too much optimism in thinking that domestic and financial help for his poker parties was just around the corner, yet he still got it right with his prediction of the ATM.

I'd barely finished mastering Space Invaders before the first IBM teller was doing business at my local bank.

Like many products in their infancy, they were simple, offered few options, and scared the bejesus out of seniors everywhere. For me, it was a case of being forever saved from having to deal with surly human tellers who I am convinced grade people by how much money they see in their accounts and then dole out politeness accordingly. It's a rare day that I make the grade at all, so having a nice, simple, and faceless ATM that didn't sneer at me was a godsend.

No more folks, because now they have faces.

Yes, the first experimental ATMs with your own personal avatar may soon be at a bank near you. For those of you that think avatar refers to some kind of rare eagle that might jump out and attack depending on how far into overdraft you've strayed, it's actually an interactive, computer-generated likeness of a human teller, in both male and female versions, along with a cat or dog option for the cutesy talking animal set who thinks Disney voice-over actors deserve Oscars.

By the looks of the female avatar, it's not hard to guess the age of the programmers who came up with her; Bea Arthur of Golden Girls she's not.

Whether it's marketing focus groups, compulsive product managers or pimple-faced programmers with far too much time on their hands, producers of all things micro seem to feel that people want options, choices, and most importantly mass distraction so they don't think about how much all these useless options are costing them.

Take the cell phone, that handy portable telephone that lets you make convenient calls in all the right places, and receive them in all the wrong ones, such as front-row-centre during the third act of Hamlet. Then came text messaging so you can type instead of talk while the lead actor gets all existential, followed by an integrated digital camera to take pictures of the adjacent arts reviewer who's about to bludgeon you silly with his note pad, and finally a real-time television so you can calm him down with coverage of Coach's Corner during intermission.

I wonder whether I'll be required to apply for pedestrian accident insurance with my next Fido renewal to cover all those over-stimulated cellular handset users wandering into rush-hour traffic on their way home.

The last time I checked, the purpose of an ATM is to dispense money, accept deposits, update bankbooks, and occasionally spit out a few extra twenty dollar bills when its circuits crash. Why do I, or you, need to look at a simulated human being straight out of a Tomb Raider video game when reviewing the latest tally of interact charges? How is it that I need help from Lara Croft in pushing the deposit button?

I pay enough service fees to keep the Sultan of Brunei bathing in a veritable sea of Perrier, and have made a net return on my bank savings that would have the Board of Enron blushing if they were capable of it, yet I can't help but think that somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be paying even more for everything; from Bart Simpson giving me a loan to Meg Ryan helping me fill out a credit application, all the likenesses fully licensed, with cross promotions, royalty payments, and service fees that might leave me with enough for a stick of gum and a Bell calling card.

It makes you think that maybe live tellers, Bea Arthur and a rotary dial weren't so bad after all.