Fury at self service checkouts

One thing that really grinds my gears is ‘Self-service checkouts’. These machines cause more stress and even embarrassment when they are being used than good, and never really speed up your process of another tedious task –shopping. The self-service has the customer at its heart, really, but she just doesn’t work. Her voice reminds of your old headteacher who could instil silence upon any puny child in her path and left no trace behind her. She doesn’t look appealing and only half of her works; her scales, her barcode scanner and her catalogue of items are all broken. However, the some of the only things that work on her are the speaker and well, that’s it.

One of the worst things about her is that dreadful voice. It hits you, hard. As soon as you go anywhere near the tills her voice carries itself into your eardrums and buries itself there, above all other sounds, the pings of the scanners, the clashes of the Nascar style aisles with the crash of trollies, the tutting of stuck up old women at small mischievous children, and overall the most surprising thing it gets over, your girlfriend’s voice ordering you where to go, which is always the self-service, despite having well over ten items. Now, I can’t say I’m an expert in self-service etiquette but even I know, if you have over ten items, it is a sin to verge into the minefield of the self-service area.

Another thing about her is that she always seems to be in a rush. It is almost like she is programmed to spend 30 seconds each on a customer and any longer her electricity is slowly amped down for her poor work rate. “Please scan your items”. One second later… “Please scan your items”. Again, one second later… “Please scan your items”, can she please slow down? Does she need to go somewhere?

All she was designed to do was scan my items and add them up, then let me get on with my day, but every time without fail she seems to mess it up. Another thing wrong is her scales, they must be senseless, because unless you put a huge lead weight on to that metal plate, you hear the voice of Satan’s wife herself, yet again “Please put your item in the bagging area”, so with a huge huff and with reluctance, you do as told and pick it up to place it down calmly, holding back your anger bubbling up your spinal cord and making its way to your brain. Still she repeats herself and you feel yourself becoming more and more angry and applying more and more pressure on each repeat. Then on the 32^nd time, she finally decides to let you go onto your next item. Again, the same thing happens and this time it is the worst case scenario; the huge red light above your head starts to flash, the embarrassment takes a firm grip of you and turns your face redder than the light raging above you and without doubt, it is always your fault according to your girlfriend. So the assistant has to come to help you, that is, if they are even in sight; self-service assistants are right next to the dodo on the extinct list, because they are just never there. One other thing she just loves to blare out of her 99p speakers is “unexpected item in the bagging area”. Oh boy! Do I love hearing her say that it never gets old, not even after 69843 times.

Now onto the only good part of the ghastly ordeal -the payment. But only if you’re lucky; if you go to some selected stores hidden away in the urban landscape some of these contraptions have a special way of collecting your cash, conveyor belt that eats your change. That is the only bit I like on the whole machine. It feels like it is screaming for pennies to eat. It makes you think why they rush you on so much, to eat as much change as possible, maybe? Greedy things. Seeing the coins being sucked up by this reminds you of why you do go through the calamity of shopping.  And as you leave the shop, you notice it again. That voice droning on. “Have you brought your own bag?”