Self Check-out Salvation

I dislike lines. Not the necessary lines of life that can not be avoided, like waiting at the airport check-in counter, but the ones where the wait can be avoided. Like the supermarket check-out line.

It seems I am always behind the cell phone lady who decides to look for her debit card after the cashier is finished ringing up the order. Miss "I'm- too-busy-to-get-off-my-cell-phone" then performs the ritual thirty-second purse search, determines that her debit card is lost and decides to write a check, but can't find a pen . . . and on and on, it goes.

While I wait. Just a diet Coke and me. Waiting. And somewhere around her pen-search my head flops against the magazine rack and I ask the Fount of all that is Good what evil I have committed. And I curse. I pray and I curse. While I wait.

Which is why I am so fond of the self-checkout. Human contact be damned, I'll take the vicissitudes of this machine any day. I have heard the arguments against them, loss of personal interaction and frequent breakdowns of the software, but frankly, the impersonal "personal contact" of the check out guy is annoying and the machines are not so unreliable. I actually like checking myself out.

But most importantly, charge, debit, cash or credit, they are faster . . . and quieter, and at the grocery store faster and quieter is better.