Stainless Steel Monuments to Greed
I am sure that you have seen them, those self-checkout lanes in your local market or superstore. All gleaming stainless steel, they give off an aura of efficiency and a no nonsense attitude. They call to you with glowing touch screens and bags at the ready, no lines and no waiting, just for your checkout pleasure.
I have always been a bit tentative about them. You have to do everything in just the right order or the checkout monitor person feels compelled to come over and show you how to do things, embarrassing you and making you want to never use one again.
Today, however, I decided to take the plunge and go right to the self-checkout, hoping to get out as quickly as possible. Yeah. Right. I stand a better chance of having monkeys fly outta my butt. I can never seem to get through the checkout line quickly. There could be a flood going on and I will get in the line where the checkout person goes on break just before it’s my turn.
The cute gal in front of me just could not get it right. I think it’s fairly simple; Pick up item, scan it, put it in the bag, repeat. Kinda like washing your hair, only with a lot less water and more beeping noises. Once you do it, just do it again, and again until you are at the end of the pile on your left and all the bags have something in them on the right. Pay the machine and go on your merry way. It seems quite simple, actually.
She would pick the item up, put it in the bag, take it out, scan it, put it back in the bag, confuse the machine, and then Freak Out. (Her emotional turmoil over being chastised by a machine was dramatic and inventive in its intensity.) When she finally got to the part where you actually pay for what you put in the bag, she failed miserably. She inserted a five-dollar bill wrong fifteen times. (I counted) She would crease it, fold it, roll it over her leg, and every time inserted it backward from the way that the little picture shows.
The machine would spit it out back at her, where she would stare at it for a moment before taking it out to try again. She was obviously convinced that the machine was defective and that the repairman was going to magically appear any second to wave his magic wrench and make all her problems go away.
I kept my cool. I never said a word. I put on my best placid face and watched passively, but the whole while I was screaming inside my head; “Gawdammit! What in the hell is wrong with you? It is telling what to do in Spanish! I KNOW you speak Spanish! You selected the language! How can you get it wrong? Just follow the directions! Look at the picture! See the little picture? Hold the bill like the little picture!
“Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over. The OTHER side, dammit! Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over,” and so on and on and on.
She had a stunned look on her face when she accidentally put the bill in the right way and the machine finally gobbled her money and spit the change into that little cup with a machine sigh of relief.
I learned from her mistakes and did my checkout in record time, actually encouraging the person in line behind me to go on and start because I was done and just putting my stuff in the basket to take it to the car.
Then I walked out without the receipt.
I have always been a bit tentative about them. You have to do everything in just the right order or the checkout monitor person feels compelled to come over and show you how to do things, embarrassing you and making you want to never use one again.
Today, however, I decided to take the plunge and go right to the self-checkout, hoping to get out as quickly as possible. Yeah. Right. I stand a better chance of having monkeys fly outta my butt. I can never seem to get through the checkout line quickly. There could be a flood going on and I will get in the line where the checkout person goes on break just before it’s my turn.
The cute gal in front of me just could not get it right. I think it’s fairly simple; Pick up item, scan it, put it in the bag, repeat. Kinda like washing your hair, only with a lot less water and more beeping noises. Once you do it, just do it again, and again until you are at the end of the pile on your left and all the bags have something in them on the right. Pay the machine and go on your merry way. It seems quite simple, actually.
She would pick the item up, put it in the bag, take it out, scan it, put it back in the bag, confuse the machine, and then Freak Out. (Her emotional turmoil over being chastised by a machine was dramatic and inventive in its intensity.) When she finally got to the part where you actually pay for what you put in the bag, she failed miserably. She inserted a five-dollar bill wrong fifteen times. (I counted) She would crease it, fold it, roll it over her leg, and every time inserted it backward from the way that the little picture shows.
The machine would spit it out back at her, where she would stare at it for a moment before taking it out to try again. She was obviously convinced that the machine was defective and that the repairman was going to magically appear any second to wave his magic wrench and make all her problems go away.
I kept my cool. I never said a word. I put on my best placid face and watched passively, but the whole while I was screaming inside my head; “Gawdammit! What in the hell is wrong with you? It is telling what to do in Spanish! I KNOW you speak Spanish! You selected the language! How can you get it wrong? Just follow the directions! Look at the picture! See the little picture? Hold the bill like the little picture!
“Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over. The OTHER side, dammit! Flip the bill over. Flip the bill over,” and so on and on and on.
She had a stunned look on her face when she accidentally put the bill in the right way and the machine finally gobbled her money and spit the change into that little cup with a machine sigh of relief.
I learned from her mistakes and did my checkout in record time, actually encouraging the person in line behind me to go on and start because I was done and just putting my stuff in the basket to take it to the car.
Then I walked out without the receipt.
posted by MizfiTroll at 5:23 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home