April Awakening: Day Twenty-Four 🌤️☁️☁️
They caught me at Whole Foods one time. I had been covering the self-checkout camera with an stickable placard on each of the registers to let shoppers know this one can use credit or debit. This was my routine for weeks; I’d grab a few things, hit up the self-checkout, cover the camera, pay for my purchases, then leave. I just didn’t want to be on camera buying my groceries. What’s the point? What do you want from me? Why do I have to be on camera for every single one of my life’s transactions?
They finally caught me in the act after a month or so. The employees at self-checkout were particularly testy that day. But I wasn’t all that pleasant either. It was less than a week since Mom went to Heaven, but no one there would have known that. I was first a little miffed because the assistant told me which register to go to, but when I got there, someone else was occupying it.
I paused and wandered back over, saying to him in a hushed tone, “the one you pointed me to isn’t free.” He pawned me off to another employee who pointed out another register I could use. I got there and did my usual camera-covering. During scanning, I realized I had never scanned a hot bar item before. I took one glance to my right where the first employee was standing, and he immediately said, “I’ll be right there to help you, ma’am!” as if I had been nagging him for a thousand years.
The other lady employee came up to help, but noticed my improvised camera coverage. “Who keeps doing this?” she asked, and yanked the placard off the lens. My blood froze. I could sense her realization that it was me being the nuisance this entire time, even as she still showed me how to scan the hot bar item. She walked away and I was left standing there, out of range of the camera, but now had to improvise. I grabbed a lone receipt off the ground and tried in haste to cover the camera again before she came back and thwarted my efforts once more. “I just don’t want to be on camera,” I kept saying, feeling like a dementia patient myself before I gave up and said I’d use the clerk registers instead.
As I walked over, I heard the two employees talking to me. “It was her doing it,” she said. “Who?” he asked. “That lady,” was her answer. But I was no longer a self-checkout customer. I was just the crazy lady who they probably thought was there to steal. No, I just don’t want to be seen. I wanted a self-made moment of respite from a world so tightly surveilled. My problem was leaving a spill on aisle spite.
It never occurred to me that I should have just put the placard back when I was done. But no, I had to leave my mark and let everyone know I’m actively fighting the surveillance state. I didn’t need to. I should make smarter choices if I’m going to stay off the radar. I did that wrong. But I have to abide by the rules because I’m in no position to barter with local farmers away from the prying eyes of Amazon. The time to do that is not here yet. So I must pay another way.
The only way I’ll use the self-checkout now is if I dip and dodge the sight of the camera as I bag and pay for my groceries. Otherwise I’m queuing in one of three rows, waiting for the A.I. man’s voice to announce which register the next person in line must utilize. A strange game to play, but the only one that suits all the needs of this organic lifestyle.