How to Stay Cool Under Pressure When the Target Self-Checkout Starts Beeping at You
A Warning
By: Jaime Church
Let me burst your bubble right away and tell you upfront that this title was entirely clickbait. That is because there actually isn’t a way to stay calm when the self-checkout beeper starts beeping at you. I know you think it isn’t a big deal, and that you’re actually pretty good at staying calm and collected in these sorts of situations, but if that was the case, why did you click on the article? If you were truly confident in your ability to resist any intense emotions when that “Help is On the Way!” sign pops up on the screen, why are you still reading? Because you’re not truly confident. Nobody is. According to various psychological research studies, there are 7 primary emotions.
Joy
Sadness
Fear
Anger
Surprise
Disgust
Self-Checkout Malfunctions
Every emotion can usually fit into one of these categories. Love fits into Joy. Hopelessness fits into sadness. Violent and uncontrollable waves of guilt, panic, horror, and irritation fit into self-chechout malfunctions. I think this stems from the false promise of convenience and efficiency that these machines somehow convince us of. Because nobody is more confident than the individual who approaches the self-chechout line determined to purchase his or her items in a far more timely manner than the losers in the human check-out line who probably still use FireFox as their main search engine. Perhaps you have found yourself one of these high-hoping individuals. I’d bet money you’ve thought to yourself that you can navigate this glorified kiosk in a tech-savvy manner and avoid the wrath of Satan that is inevitably going to occur when you don’t put your items in the bagging area quickly enough. Because you’re not like those other shoppers. You know how to get around. You’ve only got two boxes of mac and cheese, a pomegranate, a coupe of canned soups, a bag of overpriced bell peppers, a bottle of cheap wine, (you’re buying it as a white elephant gift because the design on the front was just so hideous you can’t imagine it ever got through corporate approval and on to production,) and a couple of coffee pods. The sign says no more than 10 items in the self-checkout lane, but you’re sort of a bad boy and you’re going to sneak through with 13. Nice guys finish last anyway.
And before I get any farther about how this feeling comes about, I need to get the worst part out of the way. That being, the simple fact that you almost didn’t use the self checkout. You had your basket of stuff and you were genuinely going to go through the regular line. There you were. Ready to go. But literal moments before you joined the regular line, you saw the self-checkout kiosk in the corner of your eye. Did you even see it? Yes, you did. And was it really empty? Yes, yes it was. No line at all. Way greener of grass over there, for sure. You’re standing in a line of two, dare I say, three people. You’re all just lined up like cattle. And you know that the self-checkout has its risks. You know you’re going to have to bring your A-game when it comes to attention and efficiency if you dare to challenge the self-checkout kiosk. But you can’t help it. You look in front of you. Not only does the ancient woman ahead of you have a cart of 40 billion produce items that are bound to be missing stickers, but the cashier is old enough to be that woman’s mother, and she keeps taking her glasses on and off every time she looks at the screen and then back at the scanner.
So you give in. The siren call of the self checkout is simply too strong. This is when you realize you have 13 items instead of 10 but you disregard. You start. You decline to enter your phone number. You decline to sign up for an account. You verify that you are sure you don’t want to sign up for an account. You begin scanning. You start with the mac and cheese. It’s going well. You put it in the bagging area. You scan the cans of soup. Yes, all according to plan. But then you start getting cocky. You start scanning faster. You hesitate putting your item in the bagging area for .000000001 second. You tried to scan the bottle of wine not realizing that someone is going to need to come over to check your ID. You can’t find the right pomegranate option to pick (because you sure as hell won’t be paying for the organic ones.) The voice of the machine starts to get louder. The light above the screen turns on. You look up only to see yourself in the little video recorder. This screen, by the way, is legally required to add 35 pounds to your reflection and strain any natural light or color from your face. The “Help is On the Way!” Sign appears. You start spinning around, looking for that ancient lady that you once mocked. But she has left. It’s too late, she saw your true colors. She knows you didn’t appreciate her services before, so you certainly won’t be benefitting from them now. You made your bed and now you must lie in it. Who can help you now? All the sudden you notice a huge line that has formed behind you of other people wanting to use the self checkout. And you notice that all of them are hot and all of them are annoyed at you. You’ve literally never seen anyone remotely good looking at this store before, especially at this hour, but all the sudden several variations of just your type have lined up behind you. Laughing. Everyone is laughing. The machine isn’t destroying you but these witnesses. You’ve committed a crime. Not of theft but of dignity. Please! You scream. Help, anyone help!
You didn’t mean this, you didn’t want this. This was not the life you had planned. This isn’t you! You were the secretary of the National Junior Honors Society in middle school. You have your family’s Christmas gifts ready by Thanksgiving. You even pray once in a while. You used to have your life together. You used to know your limitations and your talents. You were confident. You were casual and flirty and easy going and the old you could do card tricks and even do a back handspring. But those days are gone. That person is gone. You’re here alone and the machine is there to force your throat open and swallow the truth. You fall to your knees and your vision blurs. (This could be due to the fact that you are a bit anemic and chronically low on iron,) but it's mostly because your spirits have been snubbed out like a wet cigarette. Was that overpriced pomegranate worth it? Was that wine bottle really that funny? Was the old you really that promising? Or was it all a fraud? Have you been lying to everyone? Promising ease and comfort and modernity when you knew you wouldn’t be able to deliver? Has your pride dragged you from an authentic state? Will the beeping ever stop? You could’ve sworn you were exceptional. But if that was the case, your beating ego wouldn’t be bleeding out onto this nasty Target floor. Where to go now? You decide to scan your last few coffee pods before stuffing your leaking heart back into your messy tote. It will stain everything, you know, but now your only goal is to make it back to your car as fast as possible. You select that you used 2 bags. You decline to round up for charity. You select that you are sure you don’t want to round up for charity. You instantly feel bad because what monster couldn’t spare 76 cents for children with cancer? But you don’t have time to chase that rabbit. You print your receipt. This takes about 8 years because the receipt is so long (even though you only bought 13 things,) but so it goes with things like this. You don’t care anymore.
You rip your receipt and tuck it in your wallet. You stand up and dry your eyes. Is that the sun peaking through the clouds? No, it is just the soft glow of the McDonald’s arch across the street. But it is lovely. You did it. You’ve got your bags. You look at the line behind you. You look at the handsome devil waiting in line that is undoubtedly fully annoyed with you. You crack the tiniest smile and give him one slow wink. He masks his lust with a confused expression. You toss your scarf over your shoulder and swivel on your penny loafers and stride off with the confidence of someone about to outsmart a self-checkout kiosk.