At the time of writing, a famous TV chef has just been caught shoplifting goods via the self-service tills at his local supermarket. I'm full of admiration, not for his kleptomania but the fact that he managed to steal so much when I can't even get the dastardly machinery to allow me to purchase a doughnut without incident.
Self-service tills seemed like such a good idea in theory, didn't they? Unfortunately, like cutting a straight fringe on a wriggling four-year-old or installing a rollerblind, it's never as easy as the professionals make it look.
Many's the time I have watched my husband try to locate the bar code on a pack of Tenderstem Stir Fry, becoming increasingly tetchy and convinced that I have married an imbecile, before impatiently hissing “It's on the bottom! It's ALWAYS on the bottom!”. For my part, I must be incapable of the seemingly simple task of Putting Things Down, because after every fourth or fifth item I scan, the perky woman who lives inside the machine cries “Unexpected item in bagging area! Store approval needed!” (Next I wait two minutes for a bored teenager to wordlessly swipe her card down the side of the screen, while all around me furtive teenagers are stuffing their rucksacks full of contraband Galaxy and Red Bull, and a respectable-looking lady is putting a George Foreman Health Grill through as portobello mushrooms.)
They're no quicker or easier than going to a real person. It doesn't cost less. About the only advantage left, then, is when purchasing “embarrassing goods” - don't be coy now, you know exactly what I mean! Tragically, Murphy's first law states that the more intimate the contents of your carrier bag, the more likely it is to tear/rip/burst when you pick it up, exposing your Preparation-H and verruca socks to the world. Murphy's second law states that your boss, next door neighbour or would-be love interest will be the kindly passer-by who picks them up for you.
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