Dear Self-Checkout Machine,
I hate you.
I have seriously not eaten in 12 hours, I have half an hour for my lunch, and if you tell me one more time that I must “please place the item in the bag” because it is too light to register on the scale, I am going to set you on fire.
I’m not kidding. I even have the gangsta rap song on my phone from that scene in Office Space, where they destroy another piece of useless equipment just like you, and I’m going to play it while you burn.
If you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s the clip (warning, NSFW):
I already waited for the lady in front of me to check out eleventy million things, and yes that’s a real number, and then very patiently waited while she paid in all change.
You see, I used up all my patience on her already.
Oh you did NOT just move from “please place item in the bag” to “unexpected item in bagging area”?!?!
It’s like you WANT me to douse you in gasoline and strike the match…
What? You don’t recognize the barcode? Let me scroll through EVERY. SINGLE. ITEM. in the grocery store to find it. Sure, no problem. I’m not hangry or anything.
Why aren’t you giving me the discount on the thing I’m only buying because it’s on sale? WHY ARE YOU MAKING THIS SO HARD?!
Why are you calling the attendant? We don’t need an attendant. We’re getting along fine. That’s definitely not just gasoline you scanned through, in the technology version of making you dig your own grave.
But in all fairness, you started this game of psychological warfare.
PS – In a totally unrelated matter, I need bail money.
PPS – There was an incident at the grocery store.
PPPS – Ok, fine Sherlock, it’s related.
PPPPS – I’m sorry. That was snippy. Please still bring the bail money.
PPPPPS – If for some reason you have not seen Office Space, please drop whatever you’re doing and watch it now. It will be worth it, I promise.