Adventures in Self-Checkout, Part I

This is another post that deviates from busking, although it's mildly related.  I'm having fun making little conflicts into big stories, and I decided to do the same with one of today's activities.  "Part I" just sounded good; hopefully there won't be multiple adventures in self-checkout in my life.

Introduction
Today was a typical Saturday of busking, which means I put in long sets at two different locations with a lunch break in between.  I didn't have the groceries or motivation to pack a lunch, so I decided to celebrate my Scottish homecoming with some haggis at the Farmer's Market.  Lo and behold, the "Seriously Good Venison" stand wasn't there, so I had to fend for myself when my stomach began to rumble (or maybe that was just my new maracas).  I decided to go to Sainsbury's to pick up a few items for a picnic in the museum (I hide in the school field trip lunchroom in the National Museum to dine on Saturdays, since it's always empty!), so off I went to the orange-colored supermarket.

So Far So Good
I went first to the bakery and obediently used the tongs provided to select the softest "mini ciabatta" and stuck it into a provided small plastic bag.  I grabbed two other items: a block of orange cheese and an orange orange (I guess the orange theme of Sainsbury's had a subliminal effect on me).  Since I am a BAMF, and also because I had a bulky accordion to maneuver, I didn't even use a basket.  With my hands full, I navigated the maze of ropes to enter the checkout line, but then spotted the self-checkout kiosks.  Hmm.  The last time I had attempted to use a self-checkout kiosk resulted in a spot of embarrassment: I usually only go into Sainsbury's to guiltily buy discounted chocolate-hazelnut croissants, and when I first tried to use the kiosk it didn't register the discount.  I had to have an employee come help me, who could clearly see that I was holding up the line to purchase only pastries.  Since then, I have stomached the shame and frequented the human line only.  Today, I was quite tired and didn't really feel like talking to anyone.  I didn't foresee any difficulty, since I responsibly skipped the croissants, so I bravely turned right to go to the self-checkout area.
  
Trouble Brewing
I chose a till, loudly parked my accordion next to it, and selected the "use my own bags" option, since the three items could easily share the ciabatta's bag.  The British woman who lives inside the machine asked me nicely to place my bags on the bag area.  I did, with the ciabatta still in it, since it couldn't very well  be scanned.  At last, the time had come to scan/look up my first item.  "Bread/rolls, assorted" it was.  This is where the trouble started.

Action Climax
"Please place item in bag."  It was already in bag!  I realized that the technologically advanced bag area had registered the ciabatta as part of the weight of the bag.  Blast!  I lifted up the roll and put it back down.  The machine wasn't satisfied.  I used my hand to put a little pressure on the bag area, to simulate the exact weight of a mini ciabatta, but when I released it the woman angrily scolded me: "Item removed from bag, you sneaky shit."  Why should she care if I bag it?  It had already been selected, so I had thus committed to pay for it!  Isn't it better for business if I don't bag items so they can resell them?  I clearly had to put something in the bag.  What did I have handy?  Not the cheese or orange since I would subsequently have the same problem with them.  I surveyed the items I had with me at that moment....cell phone!  I pulled it out, deposited it in the flimsy bag with a non-ciabatta-like thud, and happily saw the kiosk return to the scanning screen.  Gotcha!  The looking-up and scanning of the orange and cheese, respectively, went without hitch.

Conclusion
I had a delicious orangey lunch in the museum, relieved to have made it out of this bind unscathed.  After the last bite had disappeared, I reached my hand into the bag and pulled out my little cell phone, which was completely covered in flour.  Not a millimeter of it was visible; in fact, if you can't get through to me it is because the orifices were so filled up that my charger might not connect anymore.  What a devoted phone; it had martyred itself to this cause just so I wouldn't have to suffer through an employee coming over to assist me.  From now on I will be sticking to the full-service checkout tills.

The End