Opinion

When I was 15, I worked at an Albertsons supermarket. I boxed, I bagged, I even cashiered. I quit after six months. Why? Hated it!

So why in God's name do I have to work at a grocery store now, at 64?

Why do I have to ring up my own groceries? Why do I have to bag my own groceries? Why do I have to get yelled at by the robo-nagger? "Please put the item in the bagging area." Hey, I’m trying, but the "bagging area" isn't big enough to fit a roll of Life Savers.

Now, Albertsons and Kroger are proposing a $24 billion merger. Antitrust or no antitrust, I’m all in favor — on the condition that Krogertsons doesn't make me punch the clock every time I need a half-gallon of 2 percent.

Dear grocery store owners: Have you seen me in the break room? No? There's a reason: I don't work for you! I don't want to work for you — I was bad at it as a middle-schooler and I’m worse now!

And it's not just grocery stores. Apparently, I work at United Airlines, too, where I now book my own flight, tag my own bags and drop them on the belt. I also have part-time jobs at Target, CVS, Uniqlo and even McDonald's. I’m checking myself out more often now than a seventh-grade girl on TikTok.

It's not like I want to go to self-checkout. It's that these giant chains are firing cashiers to save money. The last time I went to my local Safeway, there were nine self-checkout stands open but only two live cashiers. The lines for them went all the way back to the Milk-Bones. I had no choice but to do it myself. I have Christmas plans.

"But they’re faster!" I hear you saying. Doesn't feel like it. About every other time at the supermarket, the self-checkout thinks my olive oil is liquor or mistakes my honeydew for a gourd or I do some tiny thing wrong and the machine barks: "Help is on the way." But help is not on the way. Help is over there trying to get the old man's checkbook out of the receipt slot.

Worse, a lot of stores position a "receipt checker" to see whether people actually paid for all the stuff they have. Wait a second. You set up this system. You made us do all this. So, now that we’ve slogged our way through our temp job with zero training, you’re going to audit us?

Well, they probably shouldn't trust us. Self-checkout theft is skyrocketing. You might call it shoplifting. The bean counters call it "external shrinkage." Just stick the price tag from an inexpensive item on a 12-pack of pork chops and — voila! — inflation solved. Or use a lemon UPC — toward the reader to run interference — for a steak's UPC. Or "absent-mindedly" skip the scanner altogether.

Hey, I’m not recommending shrinkage. I’m saying surveys show that 20 percent of Americans have done it. In a way, stores are accessories to the crime wave. Self-checkout is so infuriating that people think: "As long as this soulless megacorp is making me work, I deserve a little employee discount, right? After all, who am I ripping off? A robot?"

Walmart has had enough. The company's new ceiling cameras can track your hands and any little "mistake" you might make while working your three-minute shift. Walmart is prosecuting.

I can just see the Walmart greeters waving — for a police officer.

I know I sound like the old guy sitting on his front porch with a baseball bat. I don't care. I think it's wrong. And here's why:

Between our attention-hogging phones and coronavirus skittishness, we’re millions of people tromping through the same places each day yet rarely speaking to one another. We’re turning into walking silos. I miss talking to the old blue-haired cashier with 17 cats. I miss talking to the tatted-up straightedge cashier who's into arm wrestling. I miss the 42-year-old bagger who never stops smiling.

My buddy hates it, too, but he's got a fix that makes him feel better. Once he finishes checking out, he turns to the "associate" overseeing things and quips: "You need my address?"

Associate: "Address?"

My friend: "To send my paycheck."