Self-Checkout Hell

"What do you mean I must return to the cereal aisle and get another box of Cheerios?" I asked the woman crewing the self-checkout station. "It’s not my problem; the scanner can’t read the bar code.”

“I’m so sorry, sir, but the scanner has been acting up, and you will need another box to scan.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I returned to the aisle for a new box. When I returned, three people were in front of me, and the items I had scanned previously were piled up on the table by the scanner.

“Excuse me, but I was already in line, and I just had to go get an item that the scanner couldn’t read,” I said to the people queued up.

An overweight woman standing before me turned and said, “Nice try, sonny, but you will just have to wait your turn.”

I wanted to smear that red lipstick all over her face, but I held my temper and got into the back of the line.

I finally made it to the checkout and managed to get everything scanned. I inserted my credit card to pay but got an error reading, so I tried tapping it. I got the same message.

“Now, what do I do?” I asked the checkout monitor.

“You can pay by check, sir, but you must go to the courtesy counter to get it approved.” She answered.

Exasperated, I walked up to the courtesy counter. The same woman who was in line ahead of me was arguing with the customer service agent about being charged twice for an item. She was told that the store manager would have to correct the problem. I stepped forward and asked to have my check verified for my purchase,

“You will have to wait your turn, sir.”

“Why do I have to do that? “ I asked. “Can’t you just verify the check while waiting for the manager?”

“She will be here in a minute, so just hold your horses,” she said as she turned her back on me to talk to someone on the phone.

My patience was wearing thin, but I desperately needed a bathroom, so I looked for one. It was a unisex bathroom located in the bowels of the store. It was locked. I couldn’t find anyone to open it, so I gritted my teeth and returned to the service counter. I was lucky that there was no one in front of me.

“I need my check verified.”

“Not a problem, sir. Could I see some identification?” she asked.

I handed her my driver's license.

“I'm sorry, sir, but this license has expired. Do you have any other proof of identity?” she asked.

“Why isn’t that good enough? The expiration date has nothing to do with my identity.” I answered, trying to hold my temper.

“I shouldn’t do this, but I will okay your check.” She said

Approved check in hand, I returned to the checkout and handed it to the monitor, who said packing up my purchases and leaving the store was okay. I packed everything in my bags, put them in my cart, and headed for the door, only to be blocked by a barrier with a gruff-looking man standing beside it.

“Sir, do you have your receipt? I have to check your purchases.” he inquired.

“Wait one minute, buddy. Someone is watching the checkout, so why would you need to recheck it? Why doesn’t the store use the both of you at a regular checkout? It makes no sense to me. You certainly aren’t saving money and only aggravating your customers.” I said. “I don’t have my receipt. I forgot to grab it.”

“Sir, I will need to see your receipt. Please return to the checkout and retrieve it,” he said.

I had reached the end of my patience. I unloaded all of my purchases and put them on the floor. With bags in hand, I left the store. On the way home, I stopped at the local tavern, went to the bathroom, and ordered a double scotch on the rocks.