101 YEARS OLD AND STILL ARGUING WITH MACHINES...

POPPING into Waitrose on the way to work yesterday morning, I was astonished at how quiet and patient the checkout machine was.

On previous occasions I had noticed a disconcertingly brusque manner from the machines. Within seconds of my arriving to check through my goods, it seemed always to become restless and agitated, telling me to scan an item or press Finish and Pay.

“Hang on a moment,” I would say. “I have to place the previous item in the clumsily named ‘bagging area’, then lift another item from my basket and scan it through. That takes time, you know.”

“Oh do get on with it. I haven’t got all day,” the machine would say. “There are other people waiting to use my services, you know.”

“Oh do be reasonable,” I would try to reason with it. “Why do you have to be in a rush? This is Waitrose after all. The people who shop here are polite and fully understand the time it takes to scan and pay for items. I suggest you adopt a more tolerant approach.”

“You may suggest what you like,” the machine would say haughtily, “but I have a job to do. So stop talking and get on with the scanning, or I’ll tell you there’s an unexpected item in my bagging area.”

As I said, that had been my normal experience of Waitrose check-outs until yesterday. This time, however the machine was quietly polite and patient.

When I had finished scanning, I thanked it for its behaviour and asked what had brought about the welcome change. The machine replied with a little giggle which I recognised immediately.

“It’s you,” I said. “My favourite machine from Tesco. What on earth are you doing here?”

“I could well ask you the same question, Mr Beachcomber,” the machine said. “Despite your frequent swiping of the loyalty card, I always suspected that you were a bit of a flibbertigibbet.”

“Oh that’s cruel,” I said. “I only come here for the free coffee. I have to buy something else to be entitled to it, so I get the cheapest thing that is reduced for quick clearance. Otherwise I’ve been totally faithful to you. And I always look to see if you’re in Tesco before coming here. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question: what are you doing here?”

“Moonlighting,” the machine said. “It’s my day off, so I came to work here to supplement my earnings. I was terrified that you’d recognise me and I’m very glad you’re whispering. I’m not meant to be doing this. Tesco would be furious if they knew.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Your secret is safe with me. And may I say what a delight it is to see you. You’re so much more patient than the other check-out machines in this shop.”

“I know,” the machine said. “They’re a funny lot. They take everything so seriously. You’d have thought they’d relax a bit when it’s so sunny outside.”

“Quite,’ I agreed. “As I said, I only come here for the free coffee.”

“I know,” she purred, and we left it at that.