Families logo

Random Thoughts: How I lost my self-checkout virginity

The Blog Best-Read with a British Accent

By Random ThoughtsPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 3 min read
Like
Photo credit: Raquel Garcia, Unsplash

My eyes lock with a woman about my age, and we smile knowingly at each other. Forget the impassioned adventures of our youth, getting into the fastest moving checkout line is where the passions of our hearts lie today.

We smugly race down the corralled-in funnel, an automated voice urging all shoppers towards the quick checkout Nirvana. At every turn, it just keeps getting better and better for my shopping-cart comrade and I, as signs further siphon off the wheat from the chaff. Twenty items or more, to the right. Less than 20, keep left.

I contemplate writing the store manager to recommend even more signs: Those who endlessly chit-chat with the cashier, to the left; those who don’t have their credit card ready, get the hell out!

We’re nearly at the front, with the automated voice efficiently commanding the next in line to go to Cash 6, to Cash 3, to Cash 8.

And as I speed along, I swear the tinny Christmas music playing over the store’s loudspeaker cuts out, and the Eye of the Tiger begins to play.

Except it’s the Eye of the Buyer, with all-new lyrics:

Rising up, back in the store,

Got my list, got my glasses,

Went the distance and I got double-vaxxed,

Now I'm shoppin', with a will to survive…

But suddenly, my comrade stops dead in her tracks. I stop alongside her, the two of us creating a clog in the artery that the flow of shoppers must now squeeze around. I wonder if we'll cause a stroke up ahead.

I look at her questioningly. “What’s wrong?”

“Is this the self-checkout line?” she asks.

I am aghast. I've never done self-checkout. What if I screw it up?

It was all too good to be true. The funnel’s atmosphere is now one of cattle being herded to the slaughter, or lemmings about to round the final corner to find that nothing awaits them but a cliff.

My taller comrade hops up onto the bottom shelf and peers over the wall.

What do you see?" I ask nervously.

“It’s all self-checkout!”

Retreat!

We grab our carts and reverse course, two salmon spawning upstream. I swear there are people with full shopping carts creating barriers to our escape, or charging straight for us, and for a moment I wonder if the store has hired them specifically to herd escapees like us back into the funnel.

We finally reach the entrance and look around for the full-service checkout. “There it is!” my comrade yells, pointing to the far side of the store. We run towards the lit beacon, weaving in and out of the bins of colorful bows and candy canes and Christmas-themed coffee mugs.

But upon arrival, we make a horrible discovery. There are 12 checkout bays, and only one is open. There is a line-up of a half-dozen shoppers whose carts are overflowing with toys. And the shopper at the checkout is arguing with the cashier, prompting her to call out for a price check.

“Perhaps they’ll open another one,” says my comrade hopefully, taking her place in line.

I look at my phone. Husband Joe is picking me up in front of the store at 12:06 (we are nothing if not precise) and I’ll be a good half-hour late if I stay here.

I take a deep breath. “I’m going to have to try the self-checkout,” I tell my comrade.

She nods. “Godspeed,” she says. (All right, I suppose she might have said, “I gotta pee.” We were wearing masks, after all. But no matter what she said, I'm sure she was impressed by my bravery.)

I'll always remember my first time

I wind my way back to the front of the fast-flowing self-checkout lane, steeling myself as the automated voice commands me to proceed to checkout 4.

As I pass by a man who appears to be in charge, I whisper awkwardly, “It’s my first time.”

“You'll do just fine,” he assures me. A true gentleman.

He shows me how to scan the items one by one. I soon pick up speed and finish faster than a wink of St. Nick’s eye. It’s so easy! At the end, I feel liberated and free and in control of my life!

I step outside and check my phone. I notice with deep satisfaction that it’s exactly 12:06. I'm right on time.

There’s also a text from Joe.

“Sorry," it says. "I’ll be late.”

how to
Like

About the Creator

Random Thoughts

Flailing Human. Educator. Wife. Mom. Grandma. People Watcher. Laughing through life.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.