Checking Out
By H.G. Miller
One only needs to look at this website's progression from simple blue
background to simple gray background to stolen beige design background to
realize that I am not the most tech-savvy living in LA.
However, as our world becomes further inundated with hi-tech gadgets, I don't
want to be left behind. Jamming all of my early-nineties grunge CDs into an
iPod has proven to be both practical and entertaining. Watching my boss marvel
at the ease with which his email about copulating monkeys reached my desk is
entertainment you can't find enough money for.
In short, I love the digital revolution and I welcome its many advances.
Except one. Those self-checkout machines at the supermarket are the surest path
to hell I have seen our society partake of yet.
Have you seen these atrocities? I first encountered one at a Home Depot a few
years ago.
I had popped into the store hoping to quickly purchase a small bag of screws,
only to find myself staring at a line of about fifty contractors clogging up
the lone open register. A brightly lit sign offered me a “convenient, easy and
quick” checkout if I would use the newly installed self-checkout machines.
Being the savvy tech junkie I am, I jumped at the chance.
The problem with these particular self-checkout stands is that they measure the
weight of your purchase to confirm that you have scanned the correct item. I'm
sure this process works gangbusters on something like a miter saw, but the
weighing mechanism apparently lacked the subtlety to distinguish between my bag
of screws (five total) and the thin air another patron may have been trying to
purchase.
After about forty-five minutes of desperately trying to convince the machine
that I had indeed put my item in the designated bag, I finally lost my patience
and walked out of Home Depot sans screws, and a wobbly coffee table leg mocks
me to this very day.
Well, it didn't take long for the local grocery chain to realize they too could
alienate customers and eliminate employees by having the suckers who buy things
check themselves out.
I'll admit that the grocery store check stand works much better than Home
Depot's clumsy first attempts, but it still bothers me that it seems to be such
a burden for the store to provide a few extra human beings who are suitably
trained to drag barcodes across scanners.
The other bothersome thing at the grocery stores are these club cards which
allow the fine people at the Kroger Company to record every item I purchase
every time I decide to purchase something.
I imagine that we are short ways from self-checkers that carry on conversations
with us based on our past purchases and potential up-sell-ability.
A jovial computerized voice will ask, “Have you perused our fine collection of
cabernets to go with that cheese?”
“No,” I'll reply to the voice-sensor. “It's for my burgers.”
“Yes, I've noticed you are buying a lot of red meat. You should consider buying
some vegetables to balance that out.”
“No thanks.”
“We hear at Ralph's want you as a customer for many years to come,” the machine
will politely tell me. “Judging by your past purchase patterns, you may want to
stop by the pharmacy for a free cholesterol check.”
“I just had it checked at the doctor.”
“What is it?”
“I'm not telling you.”
“Fine. I'll just assume that your purchase of heartburn pills is an indication
of an over-saturated diet.”
“Good for you.”
The machine will be programmed to fake indifference at this comment, but I'll
know that on the inside, its little ego is bruised. Of course, it will continue
pushing for ways to make me spend more money.
“I notice you haven't purchased any Maxims for a while,” the machine will
mention. “Have you become a subscriber?”
“No, I'm actually engaged now, and I don't really need them anymore.”
“Hmm,” the machine will think out loud. “You should buy her flowers.”
“Valentine's Day is over.”
“You should make every day Valentine's.”
“I'm really not interested. I gotta go.” I will slide my ATM card and walk away
with my groceries knowing that the machine is quickly contacting every bridal
registry in California to inform them that I'll probably need a high-end
toaster to handle the massive amount of breakfast waffles I purchase.
