Continuing U-Scan follies

“I don’t know why I even bother with them things,” I said to my wife as I returned to our car with groceries I had just bought at Mighty Tops in nearby Canandaigua.
Every time I shop Tops I use their “U-Scan” self-checkout terminals.
“Actually I do know why,” I added.
“It’s because they’re technology, and I always feel compelled to whup them into submission.”
Years ago, not too long after my stroke, I rode motorcycle with my brother to Altoona, PA (“al-TUNE-uh;” as in the name “Al”).
Altoona is the location of Horseshoe Curve (the “Mighty Curve”), west of Altoona, by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to.
The railroad was looped around a valley to climb the mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use.
I am a railfan, and have been since age-two (I’m 67).
The viewing-area is smack in the apex of the Curve; and trains are willy-nilly. Up-close-and personal. —I’ve been there hundreds of times.
I had gotten back to riding motorcycle, surprising my stroke-therapists, and had even taken a long trip to Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Delaware, via New York City and the New Jersey Turnpike.
80 mph in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
But Altoona, even though it’s only five hours away, had always been too much. It was always raining or something.
With my brother joining me, I decided to try it.
My brother is a macho Harley guy, a blowhard who noisily badmouths everything I do or say.
He reminds me of Rush Limbaugh.
In Altoona we patronized a Sheetz convenience-store to purchase subs for dinner.
I noticed a computer touch-screen gizmo for ordering sub-toppings.
“Hmmmmnnnnn; looks interesting,” I said, as I started fiddling it.
“I SPEAK ENGLISH,” my brother loudly bellowed, rudely butting in.
The terrified store-clerks ducked behind the counter.
I never got to try that touch-screen gizmo until I rode down there alone.
“Welcome to Tops,” the U-Scan bubbled. “If you have a Tops ‘favored-customer’ keytag, please scan it now.”
“BIP!”
Amazing. We’ve successfully negotiated Step One. Quite often the U-Scan won’t crunch my favored-customer keytag.
“Welcome, Tops ‘favored customer!’”
I wasn’t using my reusable shopping-bag. I was using a Tops plastic bag that clutters landfills 700 years.
This was a plus. If you try to use your reusable shopping-bag, the U-Scan goes ballistic. It assumes you’re trying to rip off the store.
I’ve been told the platen your shopping-bag rests on next to the U-Scan is actually a scale.
If you have the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to set your reusable shopping-bag on the platen, that U-Scan decides you’re stealing.
An al-Qaeda terrorist.
“Call Security!”
“Please scan your first item!”
I hit the produce button; I had bananas.
“Please enter the produce-code onto the keypad, press ‘done’ when finished, and place your item on the scale.”
“BIP!”
“Please place your item in the bag.”
I did.
Then again, “Please place your item in the bag.”
“I just did!”
“Please call attendant!”
Uh-ohhhh....... Penalty-box alert! The sign of complete and utter failure, where a young attendant races headlong to my side, lest I leave the store with purloined bananas, than glances at me furtively like I’m a technically-challenged old geezer in way over my head, and angrily clears the U-Scan, eyeing me as stupid.
How many times have I thrown up my hands in frustration and hiked over to a human checkout?
.......Rather than face the wrath of the dreaded attendant.
—And how many times has the attendant gotten to hear “NOW WHAT!”
“The attendant is not here!” I said to myself.
She had left her monitoring post.
Minutes passed.
The U-Scan was glaring at me; the infamous black “Call Attendant” screen.
Perhaps the U-Scan could activate store-wide alarm-sirens when wronged.
“Whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop! A U-Scanner is trying the steal two pounds of bananas not paid for. Bring in the goon-squad!”
Suddenly the attendant returned. She cleared my “Call Attendant” screen.
I get the feeling U-Scan terminals aren’t saving Tops much money, not when they have to pay an attendant.
I also get the feeling Danny’s U-Scans, if he had ‘em, wouldn’t be so untrusting of human nature.
I’ve seen this at his Service-Desk.
I show up at Weggers hoping to get back $5-$10 for purchase of aged fruit that spoiled in my refrigerator, and my money is cheerfully returned. —No questions asked; no third degree.
$5 here, $10 there; over the day it isn’t gonna add up to a fortune.
Danny can still drive his Ferrari.
It isn’t worth losing a customer over $5-$10.

• My wife of 43+ years is “Linda.”
• “Mighty Tops” is the Tops supermarket-chain based in Buffalo we occasionally buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• “Danny” is Danny Wegman, the head-honcho of the giant Wegmans (“Weggers”) supermarket chain, the major supermarket institution in the Rochester area, although it now has stores all over the northeast, and is expanding. His father (recently deceased) founded the chain. Danny owns and drives a Ferrari.