It's late. You're just stopping in to buy one thing. You wander around the unfamiliar store, find what you need, and proceed towards the
cattle race, drawn to the friendly numbered lights announcing that the
check-out is open and available. You notice the new array of those
self-scan check-outs. You look down the rest of the line of
cash registers.
None of them are open.
You blink.
Nope, they're still closed.
"Surely not..." you begin muttering under your breath. Suddenly, a friend in a blue polyester smock appears at your side. Like a moth, you've not wandered far from the light of the only aisles that are lit, thus you stand in the large corral representing the height of the technological rationalization of society.
"Would you like to check out?" says your new friend.
You cast a meaningful glance towards the darkened check-out lanes, turn a quizzical brow to your employee guide, blink again, and begin to stammer "Ummm... yeah... where do I..."
"Right over here!" your guide presents the self-scan with a well rehearsed flourish.
"Sorry, I don't work here." There is no argument in your statement.
"Oh, don't worry. It's very easy--"
"I'm sure it is. I don't work here."
Now it is his turn to blink. This was not covered in orientation. He seems to grope for the correct line.
You continue "I will not become a temporary employee. Call it consumer rebellion." You notice a grin appearing on the face peering over the partition from Customer Service.
"You want me to check out for you?" This is stated as if it is one of them new fangled ideas.
"Yes, Please."
He takes your item and seems to pick up the thread of his rehearsed presentation. You're busy wondering if you should try to explain that the success of the self-scans will allow a 75% reduction in check-out staff. You're busy wondering if you're being too annoying. You're busy wondering why that girl in Customer Service is still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. You're not paying attention but it certainly does look easy.
"...then you put the money in this part of the machine."
"Wha? Oh! How much is it?"
"It's printed right here on this screen."
The flourish has returned. You're still standing in the middle of the temporary employee corral, a good five feet from the machine. The irony of the situation seems to dawn on both of you simultaneously. He realizes that you are asking how much it costs, not where to find the total. You discover he expects you to interact with the machine. Before you can speak he turns to study the monitor.
"$3.62" he says.
You dig out four dollars and hand them over. Besides one bill being stubbornly rejected several times, things go smoothly. Your change jangles down into a tray after a few moments.
"Your change." Your bagged item is in his other outstretched hand.
"Thank you."
The girl in Customer Service is still smiling.
You don't know why.