I don’t really do supermarkets. It took me about an hour the other day to track down a simple list of goodies drawn up by the wife; all-the-while dodging aggressive housewives (often with a harried husband in tow), their £2,000 buggies, their snotty kids, their trolleys heaving with enough food and drink to alleviate famine in Africa, members of their extended family (Gran attached to the Zimmer-frame is often dragged along which kills two birds with one stone – combine a family visit with a shopping trip) and the occasional designer dog tucked into the Louis Vuitton handbag.
The only way I am able to survive is to focus on the end game; getting to the checkout counter as quickly possible. However this in itself poses a few issues: “Self checkout” or the surly checkout girl with spots and hoop earrings.
Hmmmmm….
Being a man who likes to be in control (ja whatever!) I often head for the “self checkout”.
But like many things when I think I am in control, the wheels tend to come off.
Invariably the following happens:
I put my basket on the wrong side: RESULT: a light, similar in design to that which appears on Hollywood police cars starts flashing red and a robotic voice booms: “Unexpected item in the bagging area!” An attendant overseeing the bank of machines bustles over, gives me an understanding smile, inserts a code that Enigma couldn’t break and I am back in business.
I put the basket on the correct side and place my own bags (to avoid using plastic bags and thereby staying environmentally friendly) in the bagging area: RESULT: the flashing red light and the booming robotic voice: “Unexpected item in the bagging area!” The attendant ambles over, gives me a smile that is bordering on forced, enters the 40-digit code and moves on.
Bags positioned, I begin scanning my goodies. All is going well, until I scan the same item twice. I catch the eye of the attendant who tries to avoid eye contact, give her a helpless shrug and wait. Thinking that the machine has registered the item, I place it in my hessian “give-a-tree-a-hug” bag: RESULT: flashing red light and the robot voice: “Unexpected item in the bagging area!” The attendant slopes over; gives me a grimace; says sarcastically “First time then?”; taps in the code very slowly and then disappears from view.
I am now well into my 20th minute of this living nightmare – with the sweaty brow to prove it, when I reach in and pull out my final – and most important – item, champagne for the wife. I know I need sign off from the attendant, but I make the fateful error of putting it down in the bagging area: RESULT, flashing red light and the robotic voice “Unexpected item in the bagging area!”
Exasperated I give the machine a sharp kick; it responds with “Unexpected item in the bagging area!” I notice the attendant, who has now pinned me in the chest with about 100 imaginary daggers, nod to store security and they both come over to confront me over my abuse of supermarket property.
I protest my innocence and am let off with a warning. I pay, grab my “enviro” bags and beat a hobbled retreat – dodging housewives, husbands, kids, Grans, trolleys and dogs as I go!
Next time it’s the checkout girl with the spots and hoop earrings thanks!
OUT ☺