There's been a lot of talk on social media recently about self-service checkouts.
Possibly not the most vital subject in the world, certainly further down the chain of importance than achieving world peace, stopping climate change and free asparagus for the under 5s (you know it makes sense), but contentious nonetheless.
The main gist of this talk has fallen into two categories:
#1 - it's putting people out of jobs so you should use the manned kiosk instead
#2 - I'm not paid to work here - you should pay someone to do this for me
Of the two above arguments I suspect that what's behind door number two is a bit more truthful. Let's face it - I've been getting cash out of a hole in the wall for a good thirty or so years and have not been into my local branch for at least 15 years (other than to steal one of those pens-on-a-chain they always have), thus putting many a potential cashier out of a job and now, increasingly, I am paying for things with a jaunty little tap or a swipe of my card and, by dint of doing so, presumably putting the people who fill the holes in the walls jobs into jeopardy as well.
This is, of course, because cash out of a hole in a wall, or even better magical cash produced with a swipe, is less of a hassle for us than going into a queue, filling in a slip, handing it over to a person, having to make idle chit-chat about the weather whilst the lady with a life-savings worth of two pence pieces chooses peak time to deposit them...and this is why i suspect that reason two is the truth because of course having to swipe and bag our own purchases is less convenient to us so why should we have to do it, right? (What do we want? More shop assistants, when do we want them? At sensible shopping times in accordance with our working and leisure needs!)
But none of the above is my problem with the machines - it's that because of their placement we British are losing our ability to queue.
There are many things that are, despite all the evidence to the contrary, known internationally about the British: We're all cockneys and talk like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins (caw bloimey Muuury PoppIns, ows yer father, let's have a sing around the owld pianna), we wear bowler hats and carry umbrellas everywhere and look like Jacob Rees-Mogg, we're awfully polite and drink tea and we can queue like there's no tomorrow with nerry a sigh or complaint
But the positioning in shops of these new-fangled gadgets is spoiling this because they are usually placed in a corner that is near, but not inline with, the regular tills.
Now what should happen in a fair and just society is that everyone would join a single queue - and when either a machine or a cashier becomes free then you should go to that accordingly - however, because the line of approach is not consistent or clear you find people suddenly pushing past you and moving to form seperate sub-queues.
Being British, no one complains or even raises an eyebrow - there might be a slight "tsk" of disapproval but even that is stretching things to the limit.
I mention this in passing because just this week, for the first time in 20 years, I had occasion to fly somewhere from a plane station (and why are they called Airports when train stations aren't called train ports that's what i'd like to know). It was an economy flight - one of those in a rotor-blade plane with Amelia Earheart behind the wheel - the type where everything, including your seat, is extra. The flight was only an hour but as we taxied down at the next air station (I'm sticking with it, it's a thing OK?) and people began walking along the concourse we turned a corner and there, under the signs for Arrivals, was a nice, orderly queue of people. The type of queue that makes one nostalgic for days gone by.
And so, being British, I joined it and politely stood in line for a good five minutes as a few of the other passengers continued past and around a corner - assuming that they had paid some additional fast-pass exit fee that i knew my company would have not paid (That Pixie can stand and queue, my boss would have said, twirling his hipster moustache)
It was a full five minutes before the queue started moving and, at that point, i realised what i was actually standing in was the queue to board a plane back to where i had just come from
Quietly, and with as much dignity as i could salvage, i made my excuses to the man in front of me and stepped out of the queue and around the corner. I didn't look back to see if anyone else would follow me
