Unexpected item in bagging area

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for human checkouts

He's looking at his phone

I'm ready to check out of a supermarket in Tempe, AZ. There are six self-checkouts and one staffed by a human. Of course I choose the human.

There's one guy ahead of me, already checking out, so I unload my cart onto the belt. Now the guy has a pile of coupons or similar that needs a supervisor, so I wait. I live on a rural island, so it doesn't bother me.

A second cashier appears and opens a checkout next to the one I'm in line for. She catches my eye to beckon me over, looks at my groceries, back to me, and mouths "did you already put..." I smile, nod, and shrug my shoulders. We both turn and look at the guy behind me and my cart.

He's looking at his phone.

I wave.

He's looking at his phone.

She peers over and around the check out line display of People Magazines and chocolate at adult level and candy at kid level, and waves.

He's looking at his phone.

I look at her and mouth, "he's looking at his phone."

The cashier comes out, taps him on the arm and brings him over to her line. The cashier and I catch each other's eye, smile, and nod in appreciation of a shared moment of mouthed and mimed cooperation.

Because the most interesting thing you're ever going to hear in a self-checkout is "Unexpected item in bagging area.”

I'm turning into my Dad

Years ago, when visiting my parents in England, I would go to the grocery store with my father. At the checkout, I would look for the shortest line but he would always head to a particular one. He had a favorite cashier. The sheer inefficiency of it drove me nuts! But, they would exchange pleasantries and I came to realize that for him the social interaction was more than worth the time.

Ten years later, a Dutch supermarket chain recognized this need with kletskassas, or “chat checkouts,” and UK supermarkets are now being urged to do the same, a posthumous vindication for my father.

Now I'm turning into my Dad, and not just because I'll save a sliver of wood in case it comes in handy to stir paint with, but because I too have my favorite cashiers. L is one of them, and you're about to find out why.

Friends of Friends

"Friends of Friends can help, sure," explains L to the gentleman in front of me in his checkout line at my local grocery store. Friends of Friends is a local charity that helps people with medical needs like transport to appointments, and paying for essential care or medications.

"Call this number and say you talked to me. I'm on the board."

The gentlemen is smartly dressed, leather bomber jacket, crew cut, trim moustache, giving off the vibe of a retired military officer or cop.

"The other thing you can do is call the manufacturer. They'll often give you coupons for expensive meds. A friend of mine got almost a full year's worth."

I'm glad I picked this line.

Turkey points

"You have twelve turkey points," says L, looking at the receipt as he finishes checking me out a few days before Thanksgiving.

"You get a free turkey up to twelve pounds."

"Oh, cool, but I'm vegan and I don't eat turkey. Is there some way I can donate the points?"

"Tell you what, go pick out a turkey and leave it here with me. I'll take it over to the food bank. I'm going there later anyway."

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate.

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