Holiday (Summer) 2013 - The Crime Spree that never was

Well, I can't fathom it.

I don't mind admitting defeat.  I don't.  I just don't get.

First, Tesco's Self Service Checkouts blew my mind ........ and then, I found out about Waitrose's "QuickCheck" scanners.

Mental.

All of it.

As a matter of interest, any of you been in Tesco at Fforestfach, Swansea over the past 4 weeks?

If so, you might have spotted me giving those Self-Service Checkouts some of my best Paddington Bear stares.

I can assure you I have done some of my best work vis a vis the Stern Look.

Let me explain, to the uninitiated, how these all-seeing, mind-controlling monstrosities work.

You take your basket of, say, 8 items. You scan 8 items.
It asks you how bags you need.  You tell It.
You finish scanning.  You pay the Thing.
You leave. With your 8 items.

Now, here's the thing.
HOW does It know you didn't have 9 items in your basket but, because you are an evil genius, you have *gasp* .......*whispers* .... not scanned the 9th item.  Opting instead (WARNING: those of a nervous disposition look away now) to put it straight into your bag.

And, HOW does that Thing know you haven't taken 4 bags (having led It to believe you took just the one).  One of you and one each for your 3 friends, who are in on this Oceans Eleven scam.   Or who don't want to donate 2p per bag to Children In Need, Snails with Asthma or whatever.

In. Sane.

And then, Waitrose went one louder with its Quick Check scanner.

Now, wait for this, the QCS encourages you to, AS you make way around the shop, to scan your FreeRange Eggs and then POP THEM STRAIGHT IN YOUR BAG and then, pay for the cumulative amount recorded on your scanner at the end.

No feverish packing at a till, whilst juggling cards.  All done.

But again, it seems to me that it would be really easy to just squirrel away an unscanned item, or two.

Should you have a Faganesque inclination.

Which I don't.


I am prepared to stand corrected but I am wondering whether these systems work because,
a) there is faith in the General Public's genuine code of trust OR
b) is it a case of playing on GP's sense of paranoia or its fear of public exposure, in a supermarket, of being a Bad Egg.

The Infallible Duo of a Catholic upbringing and one of the original Tiger Mums has put me in possession of a disportionate guilt complex re the breaking of rules and has rendered me incapable of telling lies (white or otherwise) to authorities.

 (NOTE: elaborate ruses to sneak cans of beer OUT of Sandance, or The 7s don't count, cos that is a stupid rule.  And I paid for them.  I'm not leaving paid-for beer. Ain't gonna happen.)



To clarify:
I can withold information if someone has asked me to keep something confidential BUT ask me a direct question, like:

AT THE CINEMA "Madam, have you got contrabrand English Breakfast tea in a travel mug, in your bag?"

Voices in the Head: "Say no, you dosy cow. Say no."

Me: Yes.

Hopeless.

I am the Elephant (wo)Man

Perhaps the lady in the pharmacy would approve?
(I was being a lady ninja, fyi)

Off we went, all together, to see Monsters University.
To celebrate the End (of the School Year).
It was sold out.

(none of this is relevant but I thought I'd set the scene)

*****************************************************************************
On the way back to the car, we pop into a pharmacy for travel staples before our holiday. Paracetemol, that kind of thing.

A member of staff gave me a good look when we came in &, is now following me around the shop trying to attract my attention.

"Excuse me, madam."

"Yes?"

"I want to show you our products. To help you.  You know, with your face. *points at my face*"

Tone was:

a) I'm so sorry for all that you have had to endure. This terrible affliction you have borne. Y'know, with your face & everything.
b) But it's all going to ok now, sweetie, 'cos I got a cream to sort it all out.  You need be a monster no more.

I have freckles.  Sun freckles. Some patches of hyper-pigmentation.  Some.

I don't love it & it has come with age (& not helped by 9 years of living in the desert) but, meh.

Slap a bit of BB Cream on it, feel a bit less self-conscious about it & off we go for some fun.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, Lady, if I wanted your opinion I would have asked for it. 
AND however, brave I may be sounding you are making feel like shite & really rather self-conscious. 

I mean, do my nearest & dearest have to fight waves of revulsion & nausea when I turn up?

Anyway,
she's STILL standing in front of me. 
Maybe she's waiting for me to collapse with relief that someone is able to relieve me of this freckly nightmare?

This lady knows the secret escape from the freckly 10th Circle of Dante's Inferno.

I respond  "Wow. How rude."

Trousers is sniggering cos I've told him this sort of thing happens.  He thought I was exaggerating. He can see the ridiculousness of the situation.  He thinks it is ludicrous, cos I'm gorgeous (blahblahblah)


"Yes," she says "very sorry.  It's over here."

"No thanks. I'm good."

"We have many things to help you, madam. Peels, masks, creams, face-lift products."

*OMFG, Lady, please. Stop.*

No.
THANK.

YOU.

Should have asked her why she hadn't availed herself of those 'Make You 2 Feet Taller & Not So Fat' pills over there.