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Guest Column

Wielding plastic has its price

By BRUCE MICHAUD
Published October 12, 2007

Have you had this problem? You go shopping and get everything you wanted, plus things you wanted when you were 10 years old. I usually don't bring a basket, so I don't buy stuff I don't need. I carry only what I can hold and persuade some old lady to hold any extra items I must have and bring them to the counter.

I watch the clerk ring up all my items, including those Grandma carried for me, and get my total. I hold my credit card out for her to grab. "Just run it through the machine, sir," she says.

Why? You did everything else. Now you want me to run my card through the machine? I go to church, and the priest can't even put the bread in my mouth anymore - he hands it to me so I can put it in. I could see if a credit card or piece of bread weighed about 50 pounds and a back might go out, but this isn't the case!

You have to be cool. Ten people in line are watching you, and the cashier couldn't possibly be asking you to do something that requires any real brain activity.

The first step is to get that little card picture focused on the machine so you can see how to swipe the card through. I study the picture to see exactly how to hold the card, and my brain opens my skull lid and walks out of the store to go and sit in the car. Now I have to use pure skill to complete this mission. I hold the card exactly like the little example picture and swipe it through.

I am no longer aware of all the people looking at me. I am now Tom Cruise completing a mission. "English or Spanish." I don't want my money in pesos ... so English. "Credit or Debit." Hmmm ... Credit means I'll be adding to the card, debit means taking away. Trying to make me look dumb, huh! I hit debit! "Four-digit code." When I accepted this mission I was not given a four-digit code. I see the cashier trying to tell me what to do next. All I hear is blah, blah, blah echoing through my empty skull. I thought I pressed English, but she is speaking Spanish! I hit "control alt delete" and press credit. No password needed.

I see a blank line, so I sign my name and look up to confirm I did this in record time with no help. I put the high-tech writing instrument back in its holster and dust off my card. I look over at the cashier, who is filing her nails and chewing gum, and hear her mumble, "If you're done, hit OK." I now have high-tech blind spots in my eyes and can't see this "OK" sign she is talking about. A hand reaches over and points to it. Thank God I asked Grandma to carry my stuff. I hit "OK!" It's hard to believe 20 minutes have gone by.

I strut out like John Travolta in Grease and look for my brain. I go home and check that I have my card even though I never handed it to the cashier. She is very nice when I go back to get the stuff I forgot on the counter. You can't trust these grandmas to back you up when you need them.

I anticipate losing 40 pounds when self-service checkout lines are mandatory. It will be easier to hunt and trap for dinner in my own back yard.

Bruce Michaud lives in Odessa.

[Last modified October 12, 2007, 06:57:46]