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!

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