A.I.: Abusive Intelligence

  My wife asked me what "squawk" meant. 

     She understood it in the context of the cry a bird makes, but the context I meant it in was the sound of the self-checkout voice at Costco, which I was telling her about, having just gotten back from the mistake of doing her a favor. 

     I hadn't noticed it before, because I'm not the one who's usually in charge of the shopping. I was on my way to the Community Senior Center to see which of my friends have lost the most hair, and she gave me a list of things to buy on my way back. 

     I know I save money by shopping at Sam's or Costco, but you also spend a lot to get that savings. Even just a few items can add up to hundreds of dollars. The way my dogs whimper when I drive them to the vet is the way my wallet whimpers when I drive it to one of those big box stores.

     In a quick side note, why do they call them "box" stores? 

     They don't sell boxes.

     Anyway, when my wife gives me a list of things to buy, I stick to the list. I don't wander around looking for things I don't need. My beloved mother would always buy things on sale to save money. Things she didn't need. In fact, she'd buy multiples of those items because she liked to give them away to her kids so that we could save money, too. That's how I got my first crockpot. The illusion of saving money made her spend more than if she would have just bought the darn thing at full price. 

     As much as I spend at Costco, I try to make it back by eating the free samples they hand out. I'll even go back two or three times.

     Don't judge me. 

     I used to like going to Costco and Sam's, but, sadly, their book sections aren't what they used to be. I don't think I saw any DVDs this time around, either. Everybody's streaming, I guess. 

     And nobody reads.

     I never thought I'd see the day.

     After I was done shopping, I went to the self-checkouts. It was there I met the future. 

     A nagging future. 

     "Please insert your membership card," the self-checkout AI ordered. 

     By AI, I mean Aggravating Intelligence. 

     The self-checkout had never talked to me before, much less ordered me around. I wasn't quick enough pulling out my membership card because... 

     "Please insert your membership card," it ordered again. 

     I don't know if these machines repeated that phrase every few seconds, which would be irritating, or if it reacted to some kind of motion sensor. 

     "Please scan your items," it ordered after I finally scanned my membership card, and I took my time scanning it, too. Out of spite.

     I looked for the scanning gun. It wasn't there. Later, I found out, they got rid of them because too many people were walking off with one. I don't want to cast aspersions on the work ethic of the employees at the exit who's only job is to check your receipt and draw little smiley faces on the back, but...

     Without giving me a chance, it repeated its order, "Please scan your items," which is what I was going to do anyway. 

     What did it think, that I was going to stand there and whistle Dixie? 

     I scanned my first item. 

     "Place item on scanning tray," it ordered. 

     I put the item in my cart because that's what I've always done at the Costco self-checkouts ever since they introduced them.

     "Place item on scanning tray," it repeated. 

     You don't tell me what to do, I thought. I had several big items in my grocery cart. They wouldn't all fit on the scanning tray, but I had no way of communicating this to the AI. 

     And by AI, I mean Annoying Intelligence. 

     I tried to scan my next item, but it wouldn't let me. 

     "Place item on scanning tray." 

     I tried to scan it again. 

     No go. 

     "Place item on scanning tray." 

     Although I couldn't hear it, I could sense it was laughing at me.

     Defeated, I placed the item on the scanning tray. It shut up, but only for a little while. 

     "Please scan your items." 

     Didn't it know it was dealing with a senior? How fast did it expect me to move?

     I scanned my next item. And the next. And the one after that. The scanning tray was already full, so I thought I'd take a couple of the larger items and put them back into my cart to make room. 

     How would it know? 

     "Please return your item to the scanning tray." 

     It knew. 

     Accepting that it was a losing battle--how do you argue with a machine?--I put the items back, piling stuff on top of other stuff. When I was done making my Jenga tower of Costco items, I pressed the payment button on the screen and the machine ordered me to, "Please enter payment card." 

     "That's what I'm trying to do," I grumbled under my breath.

     After completing my transaction, the machine couldn't get rid of me fast enough. 

     "Please remove your items from the scanning tray." 

     Again, it wasn't happy with the speed I worked at. 

     "Please remove your items from the scanning tray," it nagged me again. 

      I wouldn't swear to it in a court of law, but it seemed the AI--and, by A.I., I mean Abrasive Intelligence--was actually frustrated with me for being so slow. There was something in its tone. 

     "I didn't come here to be nagged," I told the Antagonizing Intelligence, because I was pretty frustrated myself by that time. 

     If I wanted to be nagged I would have stayed married to my first wife.