Saturday, January 4

Name redacted for my own protection

I went in an unnamed supermarket over the holidays. Unnamed because they are a client.

It was a few days before Christmas and the place was jam-packed full of people wearing Cleveland Sports Team clothing.

Anne and I, along with plenty of others joined one of the eight self-checkout lines. I couldn't help notice that the lights above the scanners were flashing like Erica Roe holding a flashlight at a Flash Gordon conference.

It transpired you had to own the supermarket's loyalty card to use these checkout stations. No signage of course - which is good because it's a fucking stupid rule.

So this old dear was scuttling from one station to the next, asking if we had a card, upon a negative reply she swiped her own card, which brought up a keypad into which she entered a 9 digit PIN code.

By my estimation she would have to do this 50 times an hour.


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