Crying in the Pick ‘n Save self-checkout line

Author’s note: I wrote this title over a month ago and forgot about it until now. This raw, uncovered trauma must’ve scared me away from Substack.

There I was, searching for a macintosh apple of the non-digital variety on the self-checkout screen, when I hear his voice.

“Second page! Bottom of the second page!”

I smile. I believe this man is being helpful, after all. Sure, he didn’t need to yell from fifteen feet away, but I’ll take his advice.

When I’m balancing three sweet potatoes in my hand, he calls out again. His tone’s different this time. He’s feeling impatient. By the time I get through all my produce, he’s ripping fruits from my hands and I’m on the verge of tears.

My cluelessness wasn’t what bothered the self-checkout worker. See, I was taking my sweet time through that Pick ‘n Save that day. Normally the grocery store is an in-out procedure. Grab the bananas, find a package of chicken breast that at least claims humane conditions, and get out. Today was different, though. Today, I left myself time to breathe.

This is why I remember the Pick ‘n Save Experience so well. I had time to let my mind wander through the pasta aisle. I let myself investigate udon noodles I have no intention of buying. I let myself be curious, relaxed, and open to the world.

That also meant taking my sweet time at the self-checkout. There’s no line. Only one other person is scanning things, and I have time. I’m assuming this set me apart from other customers. Am I crazy if I say most people dawdle at the store only when they’re confused, or up to no good?

It made sense why I bothered the worker so much that day--I was an anomaly, and one that didn’t want to be fixed.

I wish I let myself experience time like this more often. Slowing down isn’t hard when you’re in the right environment, like a home or a park. The grocery store isn’t that environment. I bet hustle culture was born in a grocery store aisle, maybe next to the supplements or frozen pizza section. To slow down in a store is to let your mind wander, explore run amok in all of the new around it.

That’s the truth about slowing down. It speeds your mind up, sharpens it. Things you wouldn’t have noticed become bright neon signs, like the five extra ingredients on this loaf of bread compared to the two on that one. I’ve written about these ideas before, whether they be about the grind of the 9 to 5, or finding time for tea, but I keep on coming back to this idea in new ways.

Letting yourself wander in “hustle spaces”, let’s call them, has to be the most difficult slow-down practice in a country like the United States. You’re not only fighting your own societally shaped desire to rush, but you’re forcing others to slow down with you. Let them observe you after you’ve investigated your sixth loaf of bread. They may want to do the same.

The self-checkout line should be a place for you to go at your own pace. Some machines even remind you of what you’re doing if your speed falls below normal. Isn’t that odd, defining what a normal speed for my checkout experience should be? I’m not Pick ‘n Save’s worker, even though I’m doing their work. I’ll go my speed. If a line forms behind me, those people will go on their phones, and check the weather or text their friends, and keep busy all to avoid “wasted” time.

What a waste.