I've just been to Sainsbury's for food as I have pals coming round to dinner tonight. As per usual they didn't have enough checkouts open (Look Justin mate....you're earn a shedload to run that company...how bloody hard can it be?)...so I meandered towards the self-service checkout station. (I know that was probably a mistake). This was after being sent to 3 different (all incorrect) locations to locate tin foil (roast salmon anyone?), so my mood was already piqued. My pip was squeaked.
I don't know about you - but I hate the self service checkout almost as much as anything else in the world - but needs must and I wanted to get home and have a sausage sandwich.
You scan...you put it in the bagging area. This is where the difficulty begins. If you pop item straight into your trolley the machine can't cope and starts a meltdown...this requires supervisor to come along and enter a magical Harry Potter like code to rectify the situation. This is what happened with my roasting tin. Along came the supervisor and explained it to me (I think she'd had a frontal lobotomy)...she said that it works that way to prevent shoplifting. I know I'm bordering on the menopausal - but as yet - haven't started shoplifting...and if I was to I would be knicking fags and booze not a fricking roasting tin :)
Anyway - I simply had to question the logic of that. SIMPLY - HAD - TO. It doesn't make sense because you've already scanned the item, so you're going to have to pay for it...right? So why doesn't the machine allow you to pop any item - once scanned - anywhere you chose. Up the supervisor's jacksy would be a good place to start. Anyway - when faced with this unquestionable logic the supervisor went into a kind of panic and the stitches from her recent brain operation (where said brain is removed and replaced with chocolate blancmange) started to come apart and then her head fell off.
At this point I scanned a bottle of wine - only to be told that I required authorisation in case I wasn't 25...(I wish). That annoys me because the law says 18, but supermarkets everywhere have started a coalition and decreed that you have to look 25.....anyway I look 65 so what's the bloody problem? At this point I told the machine in no uncertain terms that I am 46 ACTUALLY, so just give me MY WINE. I was actually shouting at the machine in the vain hope that the little twatty goblin who lives inside it would just work my way for once.
Two very nice security guards have just delivered me back home, laid me on the sofa under a blanket, given me two tamazapan tablets and some oil of evening primrose and locked the door on their way out.