Congratulations to Booths, the northern supermarket chain, on its joyous decision to rip out its self-service checkouts – and replace them with actual human staff. Let’s hope all the other supermarket chains swiftly follow suit. Because these miserable machines have blighted our lives for far too long.
They may well be “convenient”. But not for customers. Only for supermarket bosses. They used to have to pay staff to man the checkouts. Now they’ve got customers doing the job free of charge. What next? Would they like us to stack the shelves, while we’re at it? Mop up the Dolmio spillage in aisle three?
The worst self-service checkouts are the ones that for some unfathomable reason have a screen showing you a camera feed of your own face, shot from a hideously unflattering angle. What makes supermarket executives think that first thing on a Saturday morning I want to be confronted with live video footage of my double chin? Is it part of some cunning Government health initiative, to make me glumly abandon the beer and crisps I was about to scan, and buy Evian and carrots instead?
I’m far from alone in my loathing. Pop into my nearest supermarket around eight in the morning, and you’ll almost invariably see a great long queue for the only till that’s manned at that hour – even though self-service ones are available. Clearly, customers are sick of them. But the machines are bad for supermarkets themselves, too – because they enable craftier customers to rip them off. For example, by peeling the sticker off a cheap item and placing it on a more expensive one, to trick the machine.
Obviously I would never condone such behaviour. But the supermarkets have brought it on themselves. No doubt they thought self-checkouts would save them money. Instead, thanks to scams like this, they’re losing money. And now, it seems, they’ve noticed. In September, shoppers at Sainsbury’s said staff had searched their bags after they’d used the self-checkouts. A precaution that would of course be entirely unnecessary, if all the tills were manned by human beings – who could ensure every customer pays the right price for every item.
Once the other chains see the public deserting them for Booths, perhaps they’ll finally see sense, and send these infernal contraptions to landfill, where they belong. Elon Musk may dream of a future where all jobs are done by machines. But he doesn’t shop at my local Tesco.
The jungle VIP
According to reports, Nigel Farage is expected to be a contestant on the new series of I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here! The former Ukip leader, it’s claimed, has been offered an appearance fee of £1m. Almost enough money to open an account at Coutts.
I hope he does take part, because the man is simply made for reality TV. No one could be better suited to the larger-than-life cartoon villain role that every reality show producer is always desperate to fill. Now that Mr Farage has put the dreary world of politics behind him, he can finally turn his attention to his true calling.
It’s remarkable how many political figures agree to go on I’m a Celebrity…: Matt Hancock, Lembit Opik and Edwina Currie, to name just a few. What a pity the show wasn’t invented sooner. Imagine watching Anthony Eden squabble with George Formby and Hattie Jacques over the last witchetty grub, or Ted Heath showering in a white bikini.
Losing the plot
No sooner had I finished reading The Plot – the astonishing new book in which Nadine Dorries claims that her beloved Boris Johnson was brought down by a shadowy cabal that secretly controls the Tory party – when my anonymous Westminster source arrived. He quickly glanced around the bar, to check that no one was listening. Then he said something that shocked me to my core.
“Of course,” he whispered, “you know who’s really behind that book you’ve got, don’t you?”
“Er, Nadine Dorries?” I said.
“Hah!” he snorted. “That’s just what they want you to think.”
“They? Who’s ‘they’?”
“‘Nadine Dorries’ isn’t actually a real person,” he said. “She’s just a stooge for the shadowy cabal that secretly controls the Labour party.”
“What?”
“Come on. Isn’t it obvious? She’s a Marxist plant, acting on orders from Left-wing conspirators to destroy the Conservative party from within. Frankly, it’s incredible that no one’s worked it out yet. Think about it. A Tory MP who publicly dismisses her leader David Cameron as an ‘arrogant posh boy’ – while cheerleading for his Old Etonian schoolmate Boris Johnson? Then, when denied a peerage, flounces out of the Commons in an absurdly embarrassing huff, leading to a massively damaging by-election defeat for her own party? And finally, to cap it all, writes a book that makes her party colleagues look like a pack of deranged psychopaths? Only the most fanatical lifelong Labour supporter could have done such a thing.”
“What a load of utter codswallop,” I said. “I’ve never heard such a ridiculously far-fetched conspiracy theory. I don’t believe a single word of it.”
My anonymous Westminster source narrowed his eyes. “I see,” he said. “You must be in league with the shadowy Left-wing cabal, too.”
Way of the World is a twice-weekly satirical look at the headlines aiming to mock the absurdities of the modern world. It is published at 7am every Tuesday and Saturday
Robert Johnson is a UK-based business writer specializing in finance and entrepreneurship. With an eye for market trends and a keen interest in the corporate world, he offers readers valuable insights into business developments.
