It was a late Sunday afternoon, a time when I’ve noticed the local grocery store is least busy, a time unlikely to encounter too many people with carts blocking the aisles or family mobs in worn sweatpants doing the same. In fact, the store appeared deserted. I was there for the craft beer, but would also pick up critical items needed at home. So, I pushed a small cart picking up antacids, shredded mozzarella cheese, mushrooms, and a frozen Home Run Inn Pizza before heading to the liquor section.
Given a choice between using a live cashier or self-checkout, with one exception, I’ll always choose the self-checkout, even if it ultimately takes longer. I never liked being waited on for small tasks: a waiter pouring my wine; a shoe salesman tying my shoes. Standing above someone bagging my groceries makes me feel like an elitist snob. And the baggers always use too many bags, whereas I fill up those plastic bags until they’re about to burst. But if there is an open cashier giving me a look that says “Please come to my aisle, I really need this job,” I’ll usually give in; if the bagger is also giving me the same look, I can’t resist.
The store had several traditional checkout lanes, but only one was active with a cashier. From where I stood, I saw no one in line, and the bagger and cashier both glanced in my direction. So, I headed for their lane. But as I got closer, I realized that tall shelving had blocked my view of a frail, slow-moving elderly lady with a cart stacked high and teetering with groceries. The choice was obvious. Moving on to the self-checkout area, I did a double take as an old man carrying one or two items entered the cashier’s lane behind the elderly lady. Couldn’t he predict there would be a long wait ahead of him? Why not use one of the self-checkouts, which were all open? Probably intimidated by the newfangled technology. Not my problem or business.
I scanned and bagged my items without haste, leaving the beer for last, because someone on staff would have to check my age and provide official approval. As I scanned the beer, the computer indicated “Approval Needed” and locked itself down from further operation, which I knew would happen. I stood up straight and looked around as if lost. This is the first of my five phases of waiting, which I call “F1” (to borrow a coding system from the National Weather Service). If nothing happened after a minute or two, I would enter phase two, F2, in which I subtly give a two-fingered wave in the direction of any nearby staff, eye contact being the goal. I’m always amazed during F2 how there are so many places for the staff to look other than in my direction. But I persisted and soon counted at least seven eye contacts—three people in the service department, the cashier, bagger, and two other store employees—with no further result. It was time for F3: the 180o high arm wave, something a person would do if they saw a friend on the other side of a large parking lot. I’m six feet four inches tall, so my hand in the full arm wave is at least seven feet in the air. Still no reaction from the staff; and by that time, I was convinced they were actively avoiding my direction. I never expected anyone to instantly drop what they were doing to rush over to help me. No, all I wanted was an acknowledgement that I was a human being, and then I would wait without another word or direct action; just a simple communication, a nod, a wave; easier than sending a text message. It was time for F4: the 180o high double arm wave. Rarely have I used F4. It’s pretty dramatic; and while doing it, I must be quite the spectacle.
But F4 worked. Immediately, the bagger, an attractive young woman, ceased bagging the elderly lady’s groceries, came over with a smile, saw the beer, and asked, “Are you old enough?” I smiled back and said, “Yep, sixty-five,” even though I was actually sixty-seven. (Sixty-seven is too close to seventy; I didn’t want to be old around someone in her early twenties.) She giggled, hit the approval button, and sashayed back to her bagging station.
Later I was telling Julie about my encounter when she said, “You know, it’s all on the store video. They have cameras everywhere. And oh, by the way, what is F5?”
“F5 is where I do the 180o high double arm wave and jump up and down at the same time. But I’ve never had to go to F5.”
“Please don’t. We have to live in this town.”