Monday, August 3, 2015

Self Checkout: It's over.

Dear Self Checkout,
I have so many things I want to say to you. Let's start with, it's not me, it's you. You, with your ever so tempting short lines and false promises of a quick and easy checkout. Each time you lure me in with your flashing green light, I swoop in and am utterly disappointed.

You have baggage issues.
You tell me to place my items in the bagging area, then immediately start shouting unauthorized item in the bagging area. I panic and scan for this unauthorized item that you speak of only to find my monstrous diaper bag has brushed against you. Before I can even scan another item, you start nagging again. This time my son's pinky finger grazed the bag stand.You could clearly see I had three kids when you invited me over, beckoning with your flashing light, so don't try to pretend my kids aren't welcome.

You're rigid and jealous.
I reach for my grapes and realize they don't have a bar code or a sticker to properly identify them; I know this will anger you because you are such a stickler for the rules. Loosen up. Have a little fun once in a while. Grapes are delicious and you make it so hard to buy them. Are you jealous? Because I have been hanging out with those grapes since before you even moved to this neighborhood?
I search in vain for the correct classification (green, non-organic, seedless) until I finally call for assistance. Your attendant rolls her eyes at me as she swipes her card and manually enters my item. I knew this was a mistake. The regret fills my empty shopping bags.

You're needy.
I struggle through the next few items as the chaos of the three children left unattended behind me begins to bubble over. You demand my total and undivided attention during the entire rendezvous. You ask for so much commitment and give so little in return.

You whine; I wine.
As I near the bottom of my bottom of my shopping basket, I pick up the cheap wine I have selected to pair with my mac and cheese and I know that it's over. Your "no alcohol" sign was obscured by the cheerful Happy Birthday balloons that the kids are now pleading for. The sassy attendant returns, this time with double eye rolls, but has mercy on me when the baby coos at her. I'm near tears as I clutch my shopping bags and retreat from the store.

I swear this time it's really over. I'm never coming back. I won't suffer your injustices anymore. Next time, I'll wait as long as necessary for the checker. His smile is nicer anyway and he always offers to help me to my car like a true gentleman.


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