Generate a Stand-Up Routine

(The comic walks onto the stage, adjusts the mic stand, and looks around the room with a tired expression.)

How’s everyone doing? Good?

I’ve realized recently that I am not qualified for the job I currently have. And that job is "Customer at the Grocery Store."

I remember when grocery shopping was just walking around, putting things in a cart, and paying. Now, it’s a high-stakes tactical mission involving technology that hates me. Specifically, the self-checkout lane.

I didn't apply for this position. I didn't go through orientation. But suddenly, I’m standing in front of a robot that has the personality of a disappointed librarian, trying to scan a bell pepper while sweating through my shirt.

And the machine is so aggressive. You put one item down, and it screams, "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA."

It’s never a helpful tone. It’s never, "Hey buddy, looks like you made a mistake, let's try again." It’s always, "UNEXPECTED ITEM." It sounds like a accusation. It sounds like the machine has caught me trying to smuggle a nuclear warhead, when really, I just rested my hand on the scale for two seconds.

Then the light above you starts flashing red. That’s the "Shame Beacon." That light is there to alert the one actual employee—who is managing twelve of these robots—that the idiot in Lane 4 doesn’t know how much a banana weighs.

So the employee walks over. They don't say anything. They just do that swipe. You know the swipe? They have that ID card on a retractable cord. They swipe it, tap the screen three times with the speed of a hacker in a 90s movie, and walk away. They don’t look at you. They know looking at you would only validate your incompetence.

But the worst part is the bags.

I have fully transitioned to the "Reusable Bag Lifestyle." Which sounds noble, but in reality, it just means I have a ball of wrinkly canvas fabric the size of a medicine ball shoved into my glove compartment.

The problem is, I never remember to bring them into the store. I remember them exactly when the cashier says, "Do you need bags?"

At that moment, I have a choice. I can run out to the car like a maniac, or I can buy another reusable bag.

I currently own four hundred reusable bags. They live under my kitchen sink. It’s a fire hazard. If you open the cabinet door, they expand like an airbag. I have bags from stores I haven’t visited in five years. I have a Trader Joe’s bag from a city I don’t live in.

And the designs on them are always so aggressive about relaxation. They say things like "Live, Laugh, Love" or "Beach Vibes."

There are no "Beach Vibes" happening here, Karen. I am currently fighting a machine because I tried to buy grapes and it thinks I’m stealing a PlayStation.

And then, when you finally leave, you have to get past the receipt checker at the door. The bouncer of the grocery store.

I know I paid. I have the receipt in my hand. I have done nothing wrong. But as soon as I see that person with the highlighter, my heart rate hits 180. I start walking weird. I suddenly feel like I did steal something. I’m thinking, "Did I pay for the milk? Does my face look like a milk thief's face? Act natural. Don't look at the milk."

I hand them the receipt, they draw a little smiley face on it, and I walk out to my car feeling like I just got away with the crime of the century.

Anyway, I’m gonna go home and shove this receipt under the sink with the bags. Thanks, guys.

(Comic waves and walks off.)