Mysteries of Walmart: Part 1


Why am I unable to cope with the pressure of the WalMart ‘Self Checkout’ process?  As I am taking my final purchases to the front, panic sets in when I notice the availability of the self checkout lanes compared to the full service lane.  It is so tempting.  This should be much faster, right?  How hard could it be?  After all, with all due respect, my assumed capabilities at least equal those who have scanned my goods previously, right?  I couldn’t be more wrong.  I am an idiot.  It seems that after, say, my third item, the machine starts picking on me.  “Please place item in the bagging area!” the menopausal voice sternly suggests.  Great, now I am a criminal.  I have been informally accused of shoplifting a Renuzit deodorizer simply because it doesn’t exceed the density necessary to trigger the sack sensor.  Cue Ruth, the self checkout czar.  She approaches, rolling her eyes as if to say, “We can train a salamander to operate this!”  Instead she lets out a sigh as she enters a 63-digit passcode and swipes her Frequent Swiper card that’s tethered by a red mini-slinky to her slightly undersized polypants that she purchased less than 50 feet away with her employee discount. (Breath, Danny..1…2…3…) Ok, I’m better.  Three items down, 53 to go.  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice, lurking in my cart somewhere in between a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos and a can of Ravioli, something green.  Yes, it’s bell peppers.  Now I’m looking at the prospect of having to weigh an item and then looking it up on the Wallyvision screen using some sick version of the Dewey-decimal system.  Let me remind you, I am the one who couldn’t scan a bluebonnet-scented room deodorizer 25 seconds ago.  I’m quite sure I’m in for another scolding at the hands of my new nemesis behind the blue pulpit.  Screw it.  I’m leaving my stuff in line.  Flaming Hot Cheetos be damned.  I’m headed to Taco Bueno.


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