Can anything be simpler than paying for a basket of groceries and leaving a small store? Well, based on the Asda approach in North Shields, just about anything can be simpler - and less frustrating.
My basket was not overflowing; in fact, 10 of the 15 items were small jars of spices, so this was hardly 'shop of the century'. I weighed up the options; six self-serve terminals, a conveyor belt option (again self-serve) and the kiosk. In view of my dislike of scanning things myself and dealing with argumentative technology, I thought my small basket could be handled by the chap at the cigarette kiosk.
My thinking was influenced not by any wish for special treatment, but by the shopper being attended to not actually purchasing any cigarettes. The small woman was buying dog food; the male assistant had scanned some tins, and was just scanning her sack of dry dog food. I considered that as no one else was waiting, certainly no desperate smokers, and as I had just a few easily handled items, I could benefit from old fashioned input from a till operator.
Just as I thought I might get some attention, the obliging chaps volunteered to carry the sack of dog food to the lady's car. I was not put out unduly because at the same time, he asked his colleague to take over and attend to my needs. This was the only other shop worker around, and she was standing two feet away. I fully expected her to take position behind the till and help, as the bloke disappeared on haulage duties.
"Is it just this?" asked the woman? She looked at the basket while uttering these pointless words of enquiry. I avoided the urge to be sarcastic, and said "yes", in the hope that efficiency could be prevalent. Alas, I was to be disappointed. I later wondered whether my asking for some cigarettes might have given her an incentive to scan the fucking food. I wondered whether her own approach to customer service differed from her colleague's views, and while he worked the till for anyone, she would only do so if cigarettes were involved.
"You'll have to scan the items yourself, over there," she said, pointing to the mosh pit. With the man gone, the woman with her dog food gone, no other customers waiting at the till, and cunting fucking tumbleweed blowing through the depressing checkout area by the kiosk, I considered whether to abandon the basket in protest. I highlighted that i dislike scanning things myself and I always run into problems, but she was deaf to this input. Begrudgingly, I moved over to a large conveyor belt, and plonked my basket at the head, in preparation for scanning. Over the course of the next two minutes, two things happened.
1 - a surge of customers suddenly swamped the checkout area, such that the six small self-scan tills were all in use, with other shoppers now queuing.
2 - my machine, es expected, decided to be a complete cunt and not scan properly.
The red light shone dimly and the assistance of equal dimness shuffled the five paces to me. She'd already vacated the kiosk, and as the single representative of Asda's customer service force, she was available to help people. Someone was waiting behind me for the conveyor, but nothing was moving. The Asda woman corrected the machine, but two items later, the red light came on again.
The woman then scanned all my items for me while I watched and waited. I suspect the irony was lost on her. If she'd served me in a similar fashion at the kiosk, earlier, then the conveyor would have been free for other shoppers.
A laughable episode that swallowed a few minutes at lunch time. The 'circus feel' to the transaction and the environment all around was weird. As I left, I saw no sign of the bloke who'd left with the old lady and enough food for two weeks (for a dog). I wondered if she'd kidnapped him and he was on his way to a kennel.
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