You decided to do it differently this year. You usually buy online, with high-minded principle, from a company owned by the least-loathsome billionaire you can find. Instead, this Christmas you gritted your teeth and drove in a hot car to a local business where you (finally) found a park. Then you steadfastly hunted down the gifts that your family members simply must have, worked your way up the cattle race to the counter, upon which you triumphantly spread your purchases. With luck you’ll be out of here and home before the roads get too busy. That man behind the counter doesn’t look happy; who cares: as long as he’s efficient.
That’d be me. I’ve been standing in one spot for the last six hours (OK, one toilet break) and have another three to go. I’ve worked in retail for 14 years, and so far today I’ve dealt with 200 customers. I’ve smiled 200 times, but that’s getting harder. I’m so tired it probably looks more like a grimace. Sorry, but consider me a checkout robot, carefully rationing my battery charge by using muscle memory to hit the right keys and move the mouse cursor to make sure each of today’s 500 or so products (so far) is correctly entered and paid for.
