Why Self-Checkout Lanes Need Atomic Laser Cannons

Or self-targeting nuclear torpedos mounted on the adjacent gum racks. Either one is fine with me.

See, the problem is, people tend to forget why self-checkout lanes were invented. The really ignorant folks think it was a magnanimous gesture on the part of the retail operation to help all their customers pay for their selections faster. Those who are just ignorant (no "really" designation) think it's to cut expenses on the part of the retailers, so they don't have to pay as many cashiers. Neither of these reasons is correct.

The REAL reason -- in fact, the ONLY reason -- self-checkout lanes were invented was to make it easier for you and me to pay for a few items and leave the store happy. That's it. No other reason than that. And frankly, I've seen waaaay too many people in these self-checkout lanes lately that I know aren't me, and I seriously doubt they're you. These people are mucking this up for the both of us. I've waited for you to do something, to let these people know they're not supposed to be there, but if you're not gonna step up to the plate, I guess I'll have to. Call me a handsome, chiseled firebrand with arresting brown eyes if you must, but I'll not let our rights get trampled this way. No, I'll complain about these injustices on the Internet, where there's absolutely no hope of resolution. No need to thank me.

Situation 1: I'm in Wal-Mart with three of the kids. We've run by there on a Sunday afternoon to get a double boiler for my lovely and talented wife, to aid her in goody-making. (The fact that I mistakenly purchased a pasta steamer instead of a double boiler has no bearing on this story, and I'll thank you not to mention that little episode again. When I got home, the term "moron" was bandied about incessantly, along with a great deal of finger-pointing. It was not one of my finer moments.)

Anyway, Wal-Mart is packed with the hoi polloi this particular Sunday afternoon. I'm not terribly concerned, because I know that this Wal-Mart has created several of the self-checkout lanes in case you or I stop by to shop. I didn't see you in the store, so I figured I could breeze right through the self-checkout lane.

Well. I get to the lane, and it is absolutely STUFFED FULL of people. I thought maybe you had allowed some of your friends to use your self-checkout privelege (which, technically, is against the rules, but you and I are so close, I'm not gonna complain about that; any friend of yours, and so on), so I didn't say anything. I did lean close to a couple of people while standing in line and ask "Are you a friend?" in a low voice. You know, just to make sure they were using your privelege. They didn't seem to react well to that, though. You might want to check to see if you've given your self-checkout privelege away to unauthorized people.

I thought about making a scene, but decided against it. I resigned myself to wait in this long self-checkout line. The boys amused themselves by finding small pieces of candy on the floor underneath the display rack and eating it.

So the line moves slowly, but at least it's moving. There are a couple of ladies ahead of me in line who are laughing and giggling and just enjoying life in general. This was refreshing and uplifting for about 13 seconds, and then it became annoying to the point of madness. But I tried to tune them out. A Wal-Mart employee (and take note; this is important to the story) came by a couple of times while we were waiting in line and asked the ladies if they'd like to pay at a regular register, and both times they said no, they were fine where they were.

Finally they get to the scanner, and they scan a couple of items. The total bill is something like ten bucks. No biggie.

But then, I swear by all that is sweet and crispy, they take out a change purse the size of a full-grown zucchini and start feeding QUARTERS into the coin slot. Still giggling. Still laughing.

I'm in shock. These ladies apparently planned to pay for their purchase with change. They knew this in advance. So why waste time at the self-checkout line plugging quarters into the slot? Why not go to a regular register and pay -- ESPECIALLY when the helpful Wal-Mart employee asked them TWICE if they wanted to do so?

And THEN -- THEN they ran out of quarters. They had around six bucks paid into the register. Guess what they did then? That's right -- they started plugging in NICKELS.

It took them eight minutes to pay for their purchases. I have never seen a more blatant disregard for the time of others in my entire life. I was just glad you weren't there; I know how bad your temper is.

Situation 2: I stop by Wal-Mart (a different Wal-Mart, but this one, too, has thoughtfully provided self-checkout lanes for you and me) on my lunch break to buy a can of Fix-a-Flat because, once again, my special nail-seeking tires have done their work well. So I'm standing in the self-checkout line again, with only one lady ahead of me. Again, she wasn't you, but she was in the process of checking out, so I didn't force her to leave our line. She's got a shopping cart full of stuff, but she seems familiar with the scanner and how it works (unlike a MASSIVE amount of people), so I don't worry too much.

Until I realize she's carefully sorting stuff from her cart on the little motorized belt. She's not using the standard "pile everything on the belt and run it through the scanner" method you and I patented; no, she's picking and choosing what item goes in which bag when she scans it. The little pack of hair clips? That has to go in the bag with the Barbie doll. The package of nails? That has to go in the bag with the hammer. Now, let's see, where DID I put that bag with the hammer? Let me rummage around in these 14 bags I've got piled on the floor here to see if I can find it. Ah, here it is! The Barbie equestrienne outfit? Well, obviously that has to go in the Barbie bag. I had it right here a minute ago, but I must have moved it while I was looking for the bag with the hammer. Now, let's see, where did I put it?

On and on, item after item, bag after bag, until she had carefully scanned, sorted, paid for and bagged $318 worth of stuff. Thank God she wasn't paying with change.

So I hope you agree that self-checkout lanes need atomic laser cannons, or possibly self-targeting nuclear torpedos mounted nearby. That way, we can deter these weirdos from using our privelege. You and I are the only ones who should be in those lanes.

Although if you keep giving away your privilege to people like that, I may have to turn the torpedos on you.

(c) 2012 John Puckett