I'M A CHECKOUT DUDE
Posted: Sun Jan 02, 2011 2:18 pm
I’M A CHECKOUT DUDE
Recently I gained some skill to add to the CV,
t’was in the art of retailing, a whole new world to me.
One may guess this expertise involved technology,
an area that’s grey at best in my life previously.
It happened at Big W when buying bean bag beans,
things that give you comfort by artificial means.
A purchase not the norm in my buy and sell routines,
about as common as John Howard voting for the Greens.
Seven Cubic feet of beans, a great pile on its own,
there I am with this huge bag, on my Pat Malone,
bumping into shoppers, the store’s a combat zone.
I‘m well and truly up that creek, its name which is well known.
If there’s a God, I’m thinking, let me out of here alive,
so, to the checkout counter with beans in tow I strive,
the legs propelling frantically, the heart in overdrive
and maybe with an ounce of luck, the beans and I’ll survive.
Murphy’s law is working well, the checkout line is long,
there’s a sale on underwear, two dollars for a thong,
while bras and other types of smalls are going for a song,
consequently, I stand out, the one male in the throng.
Suddenly, I see a sign announcing “self check out”
and straight away I’m thinking, “what’s this aisle all about”?
It beckons me like rainfall in the middle of a drought,
or when your mates all pull up stumps just before your shout.
Check your goods out solo, don’t stand round in a queue,
so with the beans I line up for my self check out debut.
I’ve seen the Chicks at Coles you know, they slide the groceries through
a scanner at a rate of knots – I can do that too.
I wonder how you process seven cubic feet of load,
my bag of beans seems to have a clandestine bar code.
The scanner’s making noises about money that it’s owed
and all my new found confidence is starting to erode.
But, all at once the beans behave and I can hear the clank,
the sound that they’ve been scanned so, I didn’t draw a blank.
I’m overjoyed and grab the beans from scanner with a yank,
thinking there’s a man upstairs I really have to thank.
Next I slide the credit card into the payment slot,
load the pin and bingo, it’s accepted on the spot.
There’s even a receipt that spits out saying “thanks a lot”,
way to go this self checkout, my friends, I kid you not.
Shopping’s now a breeze for me, I’m ever in a mood
to take on new equipment that once would have me screwed.
Supermarkets hold no fear, my tactics now are shrewd,
cause I’m a fully qualified solo check out dude.
Jeff Thorpe, January 2011 ©
Recently I gained some skill to add to the CV,
t’was in the art of retailing, a whole new world to me.
One may guess this expertise involved technology,
an area that’s grey at best in my life previously.
It happened at Big W when buying bean bag beans,
things that give you comfort by artificial means.
A purchase not the norm in my buy and sell routines,
about as common as John Howard voting for the Greens.
Seven Cubic feet of beans, a great pile on its own,
there I am with this huge bag, on my Pat Malone,
bumping into shoppers, the store’s a combat zone.
I‘m well and truly up that creek, its name which is well known.
If there’s a God, I’m thinking, let me out of here alive,
so, to the checkout counter with beans in tow I strive,
the legs propelling frantically, the heart in overdrive
and maybe with an ounce of luck, the beans and I’ll survive.
Murphy’s law is working well, the checkout line is long,
there’s a sale on underwear, two dollars for a thong,
while bras and other types of smalls are going for a song,
consequently, I stand out, the one male in the throng.
Suddenly, I see a sign announcing “self check out”
and straight away I’m thinking, “what’s this aisle all about”?
It beckons me like rainfall in the middle of a drought,
or when your mates all pull up stumps just before your shout.
Check your goods out solo, don’t stand round in a queue,
so with the beans I line up for my self check out debut.
I’ve seen the Chicks at Coles you know, they slide the groceries through
a scanner at a rate of knots – I can do that too.
I wonder how you process seven cubic feet of load,
my bag of beans seems to have a clandestine bar code.
The scanner’s making noises about money that it’s owed
and all my new found confidence is starting to erode.
But, all at once the beans behave and I can hear the clank,
the sound that they’ve been scanned so, I didn’t draw a blank.
I’m overjoyed and grab the beans from scanner with a yank,
thinking there’s a man upstairs I really have to thank.
Next I slide the credit card into the payment slot,
load the pin and bingo, it’s accepted on the spot.
There’s even a receipt that spits out saying “thanks a lot”,
way to go this self checkout, my friends, I kid you not.
Shopping’s now a breeze for me, I’m ever in a mood
to take on new equipment that once would have me screwed.
Supermarkets hold no fear, my tactics now are shrewd,
cause I’m a fully qualified solo check out dude.
Jeff Thorpe, January 2011 ©
