Self checkouts make me CRAZY!

Self checkouts make me CRAZY!

You can’t swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a store with a self-check lane. They are everywhere: Home Depot, Lowes, Kroger and Walmart among others. Most of these stores clearly denote the limit of items in these lanes. They also clearly identify the place at which you are supposed to queue for entry. Walmart, in its infinitely fucked up wisdom decides not to put anything of the sort near their self-check lines. The result? A ton of people backed up behind some big-assed yahoo dressed in tight shorts, flip flops and half-bleached hair, with a couple of their mouth-breathing offspring. It pisses me off to no end that these brain damaged zombies care about nothing but their own selves. I’ve observed this over time and I find that these inbred heathen fall into one of four categories: Ms. Bigass Cartfull, Mr. Coin Purse, Mrs. Shitforbrains, and extreme couponers.

Boxwine. 'nuff said.

Ms. B Cartfull is the one who rolls up to the scanner with a cart overflowing with just about everything in the store except a kiddie pool. She is way too busy to stand in line and she doesn’t give a rat's  furry ass about anyone else so she decides to make everyone else miserable. No manner of evil looks can discourage this woman. Like a Kardashian watching her own sex tape being projected in Times Square, she holds her head up and ignores the “haters” seething behind her.

She then starts the painful process of attempting to scan and bag 100 bags of crap, two bags at a time. It doesn’t help that she’s as coordinated Lindsay Lohan on an Oxy high. She takes FOREVER and even the walmart dude is giving her the dirty looks. But she doesn’t care. At least she pays with a debit card, which is more than I can say for Mr. Coinpurse.

Mr. Coinpurse  brings only a few items, but when it comes time to pay, Mr. Coinpurse insists on using all the change he has in his coin purse. Even if he's buying a digital camera. I’ve stood by while people inserted coin after coin, sinking me further and further into a numismatic hell. They pull out the coin, look at it to confirm that it is the right denomination, then fumble to insert into the slot. Again and again this goes on like a slow flogging. The paradox is that you can’t really berate them because they are usually older folks and if you did it would be like nut-punching the Pope. It just ain’t done. But in reality I think they know what they are doing and just want to fuck with me.

 Where's that barcode? 

Mrs. Shitforbrains. What can you say. This is a woman who just can’t seem to understand how the scanner works. She will scan an item three thousand times before she calls the supervisor over. I’m not certain how she operates a moving vehicle since she possesses the IQ of spoiled cheese. She moves slowly at an ever slowing pace, lumbering along one item  at a time. She is not cognizant of anyone else in line she isn’t really cognizant of anything, except her phone which is pressed between her shoulder and ear as if a piece of leathery skin held them there. BLAH BLAH BLAH she bellows, unable to scan and talk without thinking. She makes me WANT TO SMASH!!!!

Finally, there are the Couponers. The extreme Couponers have been banished from most stores, but a few manage to sneak through. Now, I understand the use of coupons and would use them more if I had a family and ate a lot of Jeno’s Pizza Rolls (mmmmmmmm), but who really needs fifty tubes of toothpaste? If they were sending them to our troops, I would gladly be inconvenienced, but most of them are not. These morons show up at the self-check thinking they will be undetected by the coupon cops.  After the end of their scanning session, they whip out a folder filled with coupons that rivals a telephone book. They then proceed to start another session of scanning. I quietly grind my teeth and seethe behind them envisioning their evisceration at my hands.

For some reason, they think it’s a great idea to have 225 toothbrushes or fifty gallons of mouthwash in the special room they created in their basement. 

I want to walk up to them and give them a business card for TLC and tell them: 

Pick one: Doomsday Preppers or Hoarders., and no you can't choose both.