I have spent most of this year being told off by a machine.
It started with a bunch of bananas. It will end, I fear, with me being asked to wait for assistance while my shopping goes cold and a teenager with a key card strolls over looking like I have asked him to solve a murder.
I am not against progress. I own a phone that tells me when it is going to rain. But supermarkets have decided that I should now work for them, unpaid, and for the privilege I am given a voice that calls me “sir” in a tone of deep disappointment.
The robot never trusts you
Last Tuesday I scanned a tin of tomatoes. The machine said it was not sure about the tin. I put the tin down in the bagging area, as instructed. It said I had put an unexpected item in the bagging area. I picked it up. It told me to put it down.
By this point I was losing an argument with a tin.
The nice woman who came over scanned the tin herself, with the same scanner, in the same place, and the machine accepted it without a murmur. It only does that to me.
Stop calling it service
I do not mind a shop that wants to save money. I mind being told it is a favour. “Skip the queue,” says the sign above a queue for the machines which is longer than the queue for the tills.
I would like shops to keep real tills open. I would like them to keep a person on them who says good morning. And if you must give me a machine, please let me buy a single banana without a recorded voice demanding I check my weight.
Until then, you will find me in the queue with the trolley. At least the person on the till has never once called me sir.
Pat Doyle is a columnist for the Daily Splash. Write to pat@dailysplash.example