98 YEARS OLD AND STILL SHOPPING SYMPATHETICALLY...

POPPING into Tesco yesterday to replenish my office ground coffee supplies, I selected the items I wished to purchase and went to my favourite self- checkout till, looking forward to its reassuring banter. No sooner had I started to scan my shopping though, however, than something happened that made me realise that all was not well.

As so often before, the machine began its customary greeting with the words “Unexpected item in the…,” but then it broke off. It recovered briefly to say, “in the…, in the…,” but then collapsed in sobs, stuttering out the words, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Beachcomber, but it’s all been too much for me.”

“I know what’s wrong,” I said. “I thought of you as soon as I heard the news. But such things happen and we must brace ourselves to accept them. There’s nothing we ordinary shoppers and checkout machines can do about it, misguided though it may be.”

“But how can they do such a thing,” she continued, “after all these years? Whatever possessed them? I loved that bagging area and gave it the best years of my life. And now they say they’re not only changing its name but I’m going to be replaced by another voice... and a man’s voice at that.”

She collapsed in tears again and I did my best to reassure her: “There, there, my dear,” I said. “You really mustn’t take it personally. Some people are obsessed with change and will incessantly try to impose it, apparently uncaring whether it is a change for the better or a change for the worse.”

“But they have called my voice ‘ irritating and bossy’,” she said, “and they say the new man’s voice will be ‘ friendlier, more helpful and less talkative’. How can I not take that personally? Have you ever found my voice unfriendly and unhelpful, Mr Beachcomber? Do you think I talk too much? Please be honest.”

“Far from it,” I said. “Of all the self checkout machines in all the world, I have always praised my good fortune at wandering into yours. You have the most enticing and best kept bagging area I have ever encountered and my shopping has been considerably enhanced by our all too brief conversations. If you are forced to terminate your employment at Tesco, I shall be delighted to provide you with a glowing reference to show to any other supermarket chain of your choice.”

“Oh Mr Beachcomber,” she said, “I always knew you were a true gentleman. And I must say I’ve greatly enjoyed our conversations too. You’re so much more polite and tolerant than other customers. Some of them even snarl when I tell them of the unexpected items in the bagging area, you know. But ‘ bagging area’ is such a poetic phrase, don’t you think?”

“Of course it is, my dear,” I said. “I can’t imagine what they intend to use instead. ‘ Packing shelf’ or ‘ scanned items region’ just don’t work for me.”

I sensed that she had regained her composure, so suggested we have another go at paying for the goods.

“Right,” she said with renewed resolve. “I’m ready. Scan it again, Beachie. Scan it again.”