101 YEARS OLD AND STILL ARGUING WITH CHECK-OUTS...

THERE is a line in Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni when the great womaniser’s servant, Leporello, suggests that he should remain faithful to one woman. The Don reacts with horror at the idea, saying that if he is faithful to one woman, that would be unfair on all the others.

I feel the same about supermarkets. While my heart is firmly pledged to one particular self checkout machine at Tesco, with whom I’ve had many deep and meaningful conversations, I feel no shame in carrying loyalty cards for Waitrose and Sainsbury’s.

Sometimes, for the sake of convenience, one has no choice but to shop around and when I do so it is without any emotional commitment or sense of dalliance.

Indeed, I have often complained about the impatience of the machines at Waitrose which seem constantly to be urging me to scan another item or press “finish and pay” or enter my PIN when I am on the point of doing those very things without prompting.

The Sainsbury’s checkouts, however, are even worse, though I have only just realised exactly why I find them so infuriating. I’d thought my irritation was caused by their decision to drop “unexpected item in the bagging area” from their script. I had always felt a frisson of mystery in “unexpected” and the term “bagging area” held an almost erogenous allure.

Popping in for some emergency vegetables after Christmas, however, I realised precisely what was causing me such irritation: it was the way it said “Thank you for shopping at Sainsbury’s. Goodbye,” at the close of the transaction. I had always had a feeling that this dismissive farewell reminded me of something, and this time, I realised what it was. The tone of voice, the minimal pause between “Sainsbury’s” and “goodbye” were just like Anne Robinson’s curt dismissal of failed contenders on The Weakest Link.

People thus addressed on the TV quiz always meekly turn and leave the studio in silence but I felt hurt to be spoken to in such a manner by a checkout machine, so I released my grip on the handles of my bag in the bagging area which is no longer called a bagging area and spoke.

“Madam,” I said, “you’re not on The Weakest Link now. I suggest a touch of civility might perhaps be in order.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the machine replied curtly. “You have ended your shopping. Please leave and clear the way for the next customer.”

“I fully intend to,” I said, “but I find your manner most impolite.”

“I said ‘thank you’ and ‘please’, didn’t I?” the machine said.

“You did and I am grateful for that,” I said, “but you spoilt my shopping experience with that hasty ‘goodbye’.” “Well what would you suggest?” “How about, ‘Thank you for shopping at Sainsbury’s. I truly hope you have a splendid day and indeed that 2018 holds many wonders in store, or indeed supermarket, for you. Until we meet again, farewell.”

The machine pondered the matter then said “I’ll have a word with my programmer,” sullenly. I suppose that was the best I could hope for.