I don’t like using the self-service check outs because I get confused over some items and need to ask for assistance. I waited patiently in the queue at the regular tills. The people in front of me spent about £200. Then finally I placed my humble items on the conveyor best. The check out girl whizzed everything past the scanner in the blink of an eye, as if she was on some sort of speed, and said, “£27. 52”, even before I had pulled my carrier bag from my pocket. I raced to fit my stuff in the bag as quickly as possible because the next people were already loading up the belt. “Phew, I’m sweating after that effort”, I said to Amphetamine Annie, eager to make conversation because I hadn’t spoken to anybody since saying hello to the post lady on Friday. She stared at me blankly as if I was speaking a foreign language. “Do you want a receipt?”, she asked. “No thanks” I replied. As I walked home, I thought that they don’t need to replace these people with AI robots because they have already been turned into automatons. When I got home I listened to Talksport and found that The Posh had been hammered by Lincoln City 5-2 which is a major setback, but never mind, onward and upward!
