And Then I Smashed it with a Sledgehammer from Aisle Five

On Tuesday morning I prepped my coffee maker to deliver the bitter liquid that facilitates my perky morning demeanor. Without it, I'm a complete bitch. I can provide reliable references upon request. Imagine my surprise when I turned it on only to discover ten minutes later it was sitting there doing absolutely nothing and just being stupid. Thank GOD we have the Senseo as a back up. Right, Honey? Ahem. So, later that morning I made the trip to Walmart to purchase a new one. I know I know Walmart. But seriously, with gas at just under five dollars a gallon and Target and Best Buy clear across town, I went the quick and easy route. Never fear. I got my comeuppance for visiting the evil empire; it's called the self-checkout lane.

But it's not just a self-checkout lane. It is how Walmart gets its jollies. By watching mothers of three play chicken with this steely beast contraption before it freezes up and calls for help. It is an illusion of convenience. When all the other lanes runneth over, it is an oasis of "Hey you! Yeah you lady! You look smart. Try me!" And you fall for it. And other people follow you thinking, "If she can do it, so can we!". So you pile your coffee maker, three new lunch boxes, and two boxes of Capri Sun onto the conveyor belt. None of which fit into the plastic shopping bags at the end of the process. And you're unaware of just how important...nay vital, this last step is.

You're thinking how you don't need any of those bags anyway and how they're cluttering up landfills and clinging for dear sweet life to bushes along highways nationwide, and how you're doing the world a favor by skipping this step. I scan my first item. BEEP. Accepted. I place it in my shopping cart. WRONG! FAIL! The contraption asks, "Skip bagging process?" and I press the screen. I scan the next item. And the next. All met with the same sequence of events. Until finally the machine has a grand mal seizure, pouts, holds its breath and turns blue, flashing the menacing message: PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE TO OVERRIDE SKIP BAGGING! And I start praying: "Please Jesus God just let me get the hell out of here and I'll feed a homeless person on the way home if I happen upon one so help me amen".

The people behind me start shifting their weight while standing there. I can HEAR their eyes rolling and I'm afraid to turn around. But I do. And I tell the lady behind me, "I'm waiting for assistance"; pointing at the screen like a dumbass ... and there is something behind the impatient look in her eyes. It's FEAR. She knows she's next and she's just caught a glimpse of her immediate future. And I want to warn her, "Run! It's too late for me. Save yourself! Think of your children! Why don't you love your children? THE CHILDREN!"

An employee appears, presses some code on the screen, and I'm once again left to my own devices. With three items left. My heart is racing, my arms are shaking, and beads of sweat spring forth on my forehead along my hairline. My daughter reaches for a plastic bag. "DON'T TOUCH IT!" I shout at her. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU'LL MAKE IT ANGRY!" This sends her into a dither because why's mommy so mad?

Then I was done. All I had to do was pay. One final step. So I press "debit card" on the screen and swipe MY CREDIT CARD! Then crap fell out of my ass. The sonofabitch machine pauses. Paaaauuuussse? Pause. I start to cry a little. Then it was all "Haha! GOTCHA! Have a wonderful day and please visit our pharmacy on your way out your Xanax is waiting". Then I burst into flames.