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I hate self checkouts - and I work on them!
Working in retail - Self Checkouts - The reality.
AKA 'S.C.Os'. or Stupid Cowing Objects to those who work with them.
Last Wednesday I swore at one of these delightful machines in Morrison's, slightly louder than was strictly necessary but it felt good. Since then they have ALL been out to get revenge.
I currently work in a supermarket in my quest to get away from Call Centres. As some kind of astral test, today I was forced into a battle of wills against a gang of six of the worst SCO's for the best part of FIVE hours. Who would break down first? Would I manage to keep my mad axe murderer tendencies under control? (sssshhhh don't tell).
Of the six, only one took cash, which, according to the attitude of the customers, was my fault. Of the other five, two were refusing to print receipts. Three were fed coins by apparently educated folk who couldn't read the CARD ONLY signs in six foot high letters surrounded by flashing neon lights. SCOs didn't take kindly to this intrusion to their card only diet, threw diva hissy fits and refused to work again until they had a full fifteen minute re-set. Again this was apparently MY fault.
Twenty minutes in, one of the SCO's decided to test me and stopped weighing bananas, this meant if further attempt was made it would freeze: only fixable by a twenty minute re-set. Dilemma! Should I keep it open and write a sign 'Please do not weigh items here', or shut it down to avoid confusion - bearing in mind half the peasants can't read English and the rest don't read. All of them like bananas.
Despite my sign in my best handwriting in large neon green letters, some monkey attempts to weigh their bananas and the thing goes belly up for the rest of the day.
I heard 'An assistant will be with you shortly' (in a distinctly non-Cardiff accent; if they had been locally configured, they'd say 'An assistant will be with you now in a minute') 33 million times today. Usually heard just as I made a break towards the door to return a six foot high tower of leaning sticky baskets hell bent on leaping onto the nearest peasant and burying them under a pile of sticky blue plastic. although it'd admittedly save me the job.
Then, after the customers had left, I had the delightful task of replacing all the stuff they'd picked off the shelves, taken three aisles away then dumped because they decided they didn't want it after all. This meant lots of raw chicken hidden amongst the Weetabix, harbouring all sorts of nasty diseases, naturally making a beeline for me.
All dumped meat and fresh stuff has to be thrown out, because people are too damn lazy to put stuff back where they found it. If cold items have reached room temperature then it's into the bin with them.
I also got two paper cuts, a stubbed toe, a whacked funny-bone and my knee is giving me gip from standing for seven hours. My head is pounding and I am, for want of a better word, knackered.
But is it an improvement on a Call Centre? Hell yeah!
See more
Working in retail - Self Checkouts - The reality.
AKA 'S.C.Os'. or Stupid Cowing Objects to those who work with them.
Last Wednesday I swore at one of these delightful machines in Morrison's, slightly louder than was strictly necessary but it felt good. Since then they have ALL been out to get revenge.
I currently work in a supermarket in my quest to get away from Call Centres. As some kind of astral test, today I was forced into a battle of wills against a gang of six of the worst SCO's for the best part of FIVE hours. Who would break down first? Would I manage to keep my mad axe murderer tendencies under control? (sssshhhh don't tell).
Of the six, only one took cash, which, according to the attitude of the customers, was my fault. Of the other five, two were refusing to print receipts. Three were fed coins by apparently educated folk who couldn't read the CARD ONLY signs in six foot high letters surrounded by flashing neon lights. SCOs didn't take kindly to this intrusion to their card only diet, threw diva hissy fits and refused to work again until they had a full fifteen minute re-set. Again this was apparently MY fault.
Twenty minutes in, one of the SCO's decided to test me and stopped weighing bananas, this meant if further attempt was made it would freeze: only fixable by a twenty minute re-set. Dilemma! Should I keep it open and write a sign 'Please do not weigh items here', or shut it down to avoid confusion - bearing in mind half the peasants can't read English and the rest don't read. All of them like bananas.
Despite my sign in my best handwriting in large neon green letters, some monkey attempts to weigh their bananas and the thing goes belly up for the rest of the day.
I heard 'An assistant will be with you shortly' (in a distinctly non-Cardiff accent; if they had been locally configured, they'd say 'An assistant will be with you now in a minute') 33 million times today. Usually heard just as I made a break towards the door to return a six foot high tower of leaning sticky baskets hell bent on leaping onto the nearest peasant and burying them under a pile of sticky blue plastic. although it'd admittedly save me the job.
Then, after the customers had left, I had the delightful task of replacing all the stuff they'd picked off the shelves, taken three aisles away then dumped because they decided they didn't want it after all. This meant lots of raw chicken hidden amongst the Weetabix, harbouring all sorts of nasty diseases, naturally making a beeline for me.
All dumped meat and fresh stuff has to be thrown out, because people are too damn lazy to put stuff back where they found it. If cold items have reached room temperature then it's into the bin with them.
I also got two paper cuts, a stubbed toe, a whacked funny-bone and my knee is giving me gip from standing for seven hours. My head is pounding and I am, for want of a better word, knackered.
But is it an improvement on a Call Centre? Hell yeah!
See more
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