Adulting like a pro
I just self-checked a boatload worth of groceries at Kroger, and I deserve a trophy. At the very least, I should get a discount and key to the break room.
Do you know how hard it is to coordinate that much food without the system accusing you of theft? You have to scan every item just right. You have to look up every vegetable. And not once did I need help finding a bar code. Not once did I double scan an item.
Truly in the zone
It was my version of the zone, anyway, which involved fast-paced internal monologue, low-level panic, and a dozen other thoughts trying to distract me. I stayed the course. I remained efficient, hyper-focused and unstoppable.
Sure, the plastic container of chives popped open, but I managed to salvage most of them from the cart. Someone’s going to need to sweep the floor after me, however. Sorry, Kroger. (Also, a word to the shopper in produce who grabbed a cilantro bunch, sniffed it and put it back: YOU should apologize. I saw you.)
And speaking as an unpaid-employee, I need to point out the situation with that awful roller platform. It’s basically the Lazy Susan of Kroger, except it has absolutely zero surface area. I don’t know how the store expects anyone to put a week’s worth of groceries on such limited spinning real estate before everything starts falling off, which really gets the sensors riled up.
But I stacked things on expert mode. I used a bag of rice as a base layer. I packed lighter items in paper bags and carefully set them on top, along with that giant lightweight box of Toasty Oats (Cowboy’s favorite treat).
And somehow, through it all, I didn’t offend the self-checkout kiosk. True, it tried to rush me by barking, “If you finished checking out, please proceed to payment,” every time I slowed down. I barked back, “shut up.” The man at the next station snickered, which made me feel seen, but then I felt self-conscious over scolding a computer program. It’s almost as bad as talking to yourself.
Give me an employee badge
I hate, hate, hate self-checkouts. But when I make it out of there without needing assistance, without error messages, and without breaking any eggs, I feel like a boss, a certified professional.
Catch me on aisle 12 next week. I’ll be teaching a masterclass in strategic bagging, vegetable code lookup, and anxiety-powered multitasking.
When was the last time you aced a completely ordinary task and felt like you deserved a trophy? Tell me and I’ll help you celebrate your small accomplishments along with the major ones.
