Do not use the self-checkout machines in the Sainsbury’s store in Barton upon Humber, East Yorkshire, as I have had the most singularly awful experience with them over the past few months. The store manager must have removed my yelp review so I am posting this here in the hopes that no one has to endure what I have endured with those ghastly machines. I have written to the local council to petition for their removal but as of today have recieved no response, nor do I expect to. Illiterate the lot of them. The local comprehensive has a great deal to answer for as the rabble of fools that occupy this lovely town are astoundingly cognitively limited.
I have never been a fan of the self-titled; self checkout machine. It has long been my view that they are the natural enemies of the proletariat; a corporate thief of local jobs and livelihoods. I only use them out of necessity. The new checkout woman, Becky I believe her name to be, is an exquisitely foul woman with a tongue as crude as engine oil. I have also heard through a friend of my church acquaintance, Penny, that she is a frequenter of heavy metal concerts. It goes without saying that I do my best to maintain safe-proximity from Becky at all times. Thus I have been forced to abandon my long-held morals and have sundered myself to the oppressive structures of modernity. With great disdain, I grudgingly resorted to scanning my own veg for the first time on a rainy sunday.
The first time I used the machine it worked reasonably well - as well as can be expected for a machine that is. There was a brief hiccough with regards to the weight of my carrots. A lovely youth named Derek amended the issue with a swiftness he must be commended for. We had little time for small talk as his lovely fingers danced across the touch-screen pad, and I do wish he paid a little more attention to me. If I wanted a service stripped of pleasantries I’d go somewhere more continental like Lidl, or perhaps even, I dare not even say it, Aldi.
The second time the machine was a little temperamental - at least that’s what Derek said - as he mentioned that it had been acting up all day. I scanned my carrots, then my butcher knife, and my jumbo pack of yorkshire tea. It was the latter that caused the issues. No matter how many times I put the bag of tea down on the packing area it would not register.
“Place the item in the bagging area.” It yelled in it’s awful din, over and over until the sound of it was caught in the microscopic hairs of my ear canal. It did not even do me the courtesy of saying please. After an infuriating minute-and-a-half Derek rushed over, with his devilishly handsome smile and his deliciously plump rear. He rectified the problem with a quick swipe. I must say Derek is a lovely worker, a kind fellow - oh I’d love to have him for dinner. I wish he’d stayed to help me pack my bag.
The third time was worse still. My basket was a little fuller than usual. I had run out of duct tape you see and I also needed some cable ties - those electronics do get so tangled. I was planning a roast dinner, so in addition to the household paraphernalia I needed more carrots, some potatoes and some thyme to season the pork. I put it all on the scanner and yet again it did not register. The thyme in particular was a particularly bothersome scan.
I got so infuriated that I banged my head repeatedly on the glass screen. My forehead has a very large bump as a result of this. My dear husband had a mind to sue, but we decided not to out of the goodness of our christian hearts. Derek also called security over to have me removed as a result of my outburst and now he has his manager serve me whenever I am in the store.
This made me very angry.
I thought to bring forward that roast dinner by a few days. It doesn’t always need to be on a sunday does it? I feel a little rebellious. I prepared my meat with loving hands. You have to massage the pork, otherwise it can be very tough. You also have to butcher the pig yourself. Otherwise the cut will not be fresh enough and the moisture will leak out. This is optional but I highly recommend it - you must lick the meat all over as much as you can. If the meat is fresh enough you don’t have to worry about food poisoning. Once that is done you can season your meat and place it in a roasting tin with some onions, garlic, cat faeces and your lovely sainsbury’s own carrots. Then it must roast for eight hours.
I took my meat out of the oven and to my absolute horror realised my carving knife had dulled. With haste I rushed out to the sainsbury’s store. To my surprise there were police outside. I ignored law enforcement, as a law-abiding citizen of sixty-three - I have little to fear from them. I grabbed the knife and headed to that cursed machine. A policeman was there and there was tape around the machine and it was spewing out a long receipt. Becky pointed at me with her tarty red-polished nail and the police looked at me with surprise.
Before I knew it I was in cuffs and henceforth was taken to a rather horrible jail on the wrong side of town. The self-scan machine has informed the police of my apparently “suspicious” purchases, all of which are extremely benign. More troublingly, apparently this is sufficient evidence for a warrant. Apparently the young gentleman named Derek who worked in the store has gone missing, but I wouldn’t know anything about that.
Fortunately the police did not have sufficient evidence to hold me in custody in that wretched hole of a cell and I have been let out, subject still to further investigation. They have taken my roasting pan as evidence. I have emailed the CEO with regards to procuring a replacement pan but as of yet have recieved no response.
All in all, I am extremely troubled by my experience with the self-scan machines at the Sainsbury’s in Barton upon Humber and shall not be using them again for the foreseeable future.