I had to stop by Brookshire’s tonight for a few small dairy items that would round out all this marathon ice cream making I’ve been doing for co-worker birthdays. With most of the stores on my end of town out of service for a power outage, I trekked back the same way I had just driven home to shop at Brookshire’s. When I had amassed all of my required dairy products in a small basket on my hip I wound my way to the self-checkout lane. Within two minutes I was beeping my way across the scanner and swiping my card. I love self-checkouts.
Wait. Did I really just say that? I hate self-checkouts. I love their ease, but their sass unnerves me. Only twice have I used a self-checkout that did not notify an attendant that the dumb brunette needed help. Even when I didn’t THINK I needed help. Regardless, with all other lanes five people deep and me scoring a spot mere inches from a self-check register, I vowed to love self-checkouts at least for today.
As I finished up my purchase and the machine spit out my receipt, it fell behind the bag holders. So I reached behind the bags, feeling around for the lost receipt, when the machine suddenly announced (and not politely, I might add), “Unexpected item is in the baggage area!!”
Still bent over with my arm swallowed by the furniture, I looked up at the machine and barked back, “The unexpected item is ME!!”
“An attendant has been notified to assist you!”
I rolled my eyes. Lovely.
I noticed the man in line behind me was beginning to giggle, so I smiled and apologized for holding up the line, rescued my receipt, scooped my groceries and headed back out to face monstrous traffic. The attendant stopped marching toward me when I smiled at her and waved my receipt in victory.
Oh, the ice cream? It was soooooo worth it!