Glancing Askance: Grocery clerkship

By MARC WOLLIN

In a multitude of situations we gladly have other people or systems do menial, routine and repetitive tasks for us. In some cases they can do it better and faster, such as cutting the lawn or laundering sensitive fabrics. In other realms we find the project too time consuming, such as painting, or maybe even a little dangerous, like unclogging the gutters. And in still other instances it saves us time so we can do things we prefer, as opposed to house cleaning and vacuuming. We’re also increasingly being told how artificial intelligence can automate routine tasks to free up our time, though as writer Joanna Maciejewska elegantly put it, “I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so that I can do art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so that I can do my laundry and dishes.”

And yet there is one area of growth where we seem to gladly reclaim the effort to do it ourselves versus farming it out. This in spite of the fact that others stand ready to assist, that they have far more experience and skill for the task at hand, that they generally work faster and can troubleshoot any issues far easier than we can, and ... here’s the kicker ... it costs nothing to engage their services, save perhaps a little time. So why, oh why, do we gravitate to the self-checkout lane at the supermarket?

The concept seems simple enough. Once barcode scanning became the norm, it was super easy to slide a loaf of bread and a half gallon of milk across a glass screen, run your credit card through the reader, and walk out while the lady with the full cart on lane two was still putting her cottage cheese on the belt. No need to talk or smile at anyone, no need to stand around waiting for someone to dig out their coupons, no need to watch someone figure out that the boxes of pasta should go in the bag first before the eggs. If you’ve ever been behind someone trying to fish three pennies out of their wallet to make exact change, you can understand road rage. 

And so stores went from one or two self-checkout lanes to multiples of that, while at the same time reducing the number of staffed lanes. And like sheep we gladly followed the flow. But now instead of having one or two items with the goal of a quick getaway, we push over carts brimming with merchandise. Included in that pile are meats wrapped in leakproof bags where the barcode is smudged, and produce with no codes that need to be weighed. Those require hunt-and-pecking the correct spelling, not to mention being able to distinguish between Red Delicious, Fuji, Honeycrisp and Gala apples, lest we be charged for the wrong variety. 

Assuming we got the basics done of tallying all the items, it’s time for the payment portion of our show. Coupons? They have to be scanned, then adjudicated when it turns out you only had two bags of pretzels, and the offer was to get the third one at half price. Either you needed to leave everything alone and race back to grab another, or put back the second as you thought THAT was the deal maker, and you really didn’t want it to begin with. And there you are, all alone, no clerk to help and guard your stuff, with only the oncoming hoards behind you, and this time it is you holding up the line.

But no, you are self-checking-out come hell or high water.

A change is in the offing. A combination of factors, from customer dissatisfaction to theft, along with advances in technology like AI-powered mobile scanning in the cart is starting to shift the balance. There is also a movement towards hybrid systems, like the one at Sam’s Club where shoppers scan their own items as they shop via an app, and an employee checks the cart as they walk out the door. 

It’s a learning curve for both customers and retailers alike. Like everything else in the shopping world it’s all about the holy grails of ease and efficiency while reducing cost and shrinkage. 

Like the Middle East, one can only hope we find some balance of harmony and security. In the meantime, what’s the code for celery?

Marc Wollin of Bedford usually heads for the lane with the smallest line, self or otherwise. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.