Old Guys in the Self-Checkout
There were no cashiers. Only computers. We customers stood in line, waiting for the official person in the official vest to guide us into the official computerized self-scanning area so that we could engage in an intimate relationship with a machine.
“Thank you for shopping with us,” the computer greeted me in a voice that was female. “You may scan your items now.”
I don’t know when stores made the ceremonious change to self-checkout lanes, but I resisted this switchover from the beginning. I will stand in line for 15 minutes just for the privilege of someone else scanning and bagging my groceries.
Namely, because I don’t want to scan or bag my own groceries any more than I want to visit Pep Boys and rotate my own tires.
So anyway, I began scanning my products. The computer would inevitably get fussy and start repeating, “PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE,” until a teenage employee would finally quit playing on her phone, stride over to me, and helpfully inform me that I was an old guy.
No, I’m only kidding. She would usually tell me I was doing it wrong.
The first few items I scanned went through fine. But the third item caused a problem. A beacon light on my station started blinking to signal an error.
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE,” the machine said.
So I did.
I waited for nearly five minutes until an official employee came over and punched a few numbers into the machine, and I was up and running again.
No sooner had the employee left than there was another problem.
“UNKNOWN ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA.” The computer voice seemed really mad this time.
“It’s a box of cereal,” I said.
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.”
The computer just kept blinking its red warning light as though I had attempted to steal a German U Boat.
The employee came again. But this time, when the employee arrived, it turned out we had a bigger problem than either of us could fathom.
“This isn’t good,” said the employee, using the same ominous tone you’d use to tell someone their family member just suffered a major cardiac event.
“It’s not?” I said.
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.”
The employee shook her head. “You can’t buy this item.”
“I can’t buy it? Why not?”
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.”
“I need that item,” I went on. “These are clothes hangers, I’m traveling through Texas this week, I need something to hang my clothes on.”
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.”
“Sorry,” the employee said. “The barcode isn’t scanning, there’s nothing I can do. You can’t buy this item.”
“Can’t someone physically key in the correct price?”
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.”
The employee shook her head again. Like she was dealing with the elderly. “We’re not allowed to enter prices manually, sir.”
“Let me get this straight, you’re not allowed to accept legal currency for an item that is for sale in your store, even though I’m paying American cash?”
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.”
“Cash?” the employee said with a frown. “Sorry, sir, we don’t accept cash in the self checkout area.”
“PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.”
I firmly believe that, if you scan and bag your own groceries, you should get a 10% discount at the end of the procedure.
I was in a store the other day and they didn't have but one cashier and most of the self-checkouts were roped off, so I waited. One of the items in my cart was beer and when I scanned it, like you, the light went off and I had to wait. When the attendant came over, she asked for my birthday I said, "don't I look 21" and the answer way "GOD YEA". I was handing her my driver's license and she said, "Just give me your birthday", so I gave her the date I graduated from high school. She didn't blink.