Oh, I zigs and I zags, I to’s and I fro’s.
That’s what I was doing.
I recall Brer Rabbit saying that’s what he was doing with all his time in the controversial film, “Song of the South.”
I usually help my wife while she shops by staying close to the shopping cart. I excel at that essential task, but I was granted an exemption because of all the zigging and zagging to and fro I’d been doing.
I purchased a glass of iced tea and found a table as close to a self-checkout lane as possible. I’d planned on being entertained. Life is a naturally renewing source of entertainment. In a display of unbridled anticipation, I tapped the table with a plastic spoon like a poor man’s version of the drum solo from “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.”
Self-checkout remains a foreign endeavor to me. I grew up in an era when the only time I could check myself out was while primping in front of a mirror.
The store was busy, so there were a few intrepid shoppers availing themselves of the convenience of the self-checkout, also known as the place to wait for assistance. Some people appeared to know what they were doing and looked askance at the majority, who, while not totally clueless, knew what road to take to get there and realized they were doing it wrong because of a lifetime of doing things wrong. Life is a jigsaw puzzle that’s missing a couple of pieces.
As I watched a self-checkout customer make repeated tries to get a second opinion, I wondered what the record was for scan attempts. The store’s overhead music played “The Heat is On.”
I watched someone take a selfie while going through the self-checkout.
I’ve used self-checkout when encouraged by time or humans to do so. It’s not the secret sauce for my happiness. I prefer to watch my fellow members of the great unwashed perform that activity.
I took a sip of the iced tea. I could hear the self-checkout scanner say, “Please remove item from bag area and scan again,” and, “There’s an unexpected item in the bagging area.”
I looked hard, but I didn’t see anyone sitting on the scanner.
I didn’t need to read lips. I could see the frustration on the faces of shoppers. There’s a reason no one yells, “Surprise!” when we mess up. We expect blunders. The store’s busiest employee was the one helping the self-checkout customers. It began to resemble a staff meeting as store employees called in extra help to assist folks in the self-checkout arena.
If you’re one of those shoppers receiving remedial self-checkout help, and your smug brother-in-law walks by, his condescending smile leaves a bruise you can’t walk off even if your health plan covers it.
Cots should be made available for folks to take a nap after becoming exhausted from trying to check themselves out.
The overhead music played the Rolling Stones singing, “You can’t always get what you want.”
People looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Life is doing things you dislike so you can do the things you enjoy doing. You buy food so you can eat it, but the customers spent an inordinate amount of time staring into the abyss that was the scanner. After a successful completion, I’m sure the scanner told everyone to be sure to like and subscribe.
I must emphasize that I was sitting this one out. Oh, sure, I helped put the groceries into the car and, later, into the house, but I wasn’t out there in the trenches scanning barcodes or waiting in line.
I enjoy visiting with the cashiers, but not pushing a shopping cart toward a cash register saved me from having to judge other people. I try not to be judgmental, but when I’m about to get in a checkout line, I judge the people in front of me, hoping to avoid being stranded behind heaped shopping carts and hands holding piles of expired coupons.
The biggest drawback to using self-checkout, other than the humbling and seemingly endless experience, is that it doesn’t gain you access to the employee lounge.
The best thing about self-checkout is that you don’t have to remember a password.
Photo by Al Batt