I blame myself, really.
As a child, one of my favourite pastimes was to play storekeeper. This was pre-calculator, pre-computer, pre-cellphone, and certainly before the ban on plastic bags.
I found nothing more fun than dragging my mom’s canned goods out of the cupboard and setting up shop on the kitchen table for a rousing game of grocery store.
I set up a manual typewriter as my cash register and pushed buttons all day long. I would greet the customer, slide the food along the imaginary belt and happily check people out for hours.
Then came the fun of putting all of the purchases into bags and sending the happy shopper off with his mega-bargains, because my store offered specials. No app required.
There’s a concept that whatever idea or energy a person puts out into the world can come to pass — and here we are.
It's now called self-service and I despise it.
In 2023, it is a reality forced upon us. When there were just a couple self-service lanes per store, I accepted it as an option for people who were extremely busy or like to DIY. Then, it got scary with more do-it-yourself than staffed lanes.
To this point, I have never voluntarily used one, preferring instead to wait, if necessary, for a human being to assist me.
I was triggered the other day at a local store when I heard the “customer support” person bellowing at a customer who was checking herself out.
“Ma’am, the hangers go in the box under the till.”
The likely already tired and stressed woman — yes, I am projecting that onto her — didn’t hear her so the employee repeated it more loudly.
“Ma’am, you put the hangers in the box provided down below.”
For some reason, that truly angered me. I wanted to put the hanger somewhere other than the box provided. I kept thinking we are already doing a job we are not trained or paid to do. We get no discount or reward points. Now, we are not doing it according to company standards?
So, I swallowed my resentment.
A recent survey from business.org suggests 49 per cent of Canadians use the self-checkouts all the time, 30 per cent some of the time. Surveys also show that people under 35 have less issues with self-checkouts than those over 50.
It's not that I can’t do it, it's that I don’t want to do it.
I absolutely worry about the loss of jobs. Corporations will say it saves them money. I’m sure it does, because they are not paying human beings.
They will say employees are not being let go, but rather redeployed. Maybe some, but not all.
I feel sorry for the staff members who have to take our wrath and complaints while toeing the company line that this is an easy new experience.
Truly, as a customer, it is more about having a little bit of human interaction. A personal connection between worker and shopper has always been important. It builds trust and loyalty and keeps us coming back.
Shopping used to be my entertainment, a bit of an escape. Now, it feels like just another chore.
By the time I find a parking space that is not already pre-designated for a myriad of reasons, including online pick-ups, schlep my various-sized reusable bags into the store, find a shopping cart (one without the funky wheel), disinfect it and myself, and start the search for discounts, I am already in a quiet rage.
After waiting in the very long full-service line, as is my choice, I feel rushed to throw my stuff willy-nilly into bags, which are now so poorly packed, by me, that I get a hernia from lifting.
None of that has been enjoyable.
The seemingly bored customer support lady wishes me a nice day and I do the same through gritted teeth.
I don’t know who to blame, so I blame myself for thinking, as a little girl, that running the whole grocery store on my own was great fun.
Retail therapy is now almost a thing of the past. It means something totally different to me now.
I need therapy after my retail experiences.
