Head to Head does automated checkouts

This week’s topic #1: That self-service checkouts are a good thing

Peter Whitehead
Woolies have taken self-service that step too far for some, pulling the Woollies over our eyes. Potts Point patrons have been presented the opportunity to check out their own groceries. Cue howls of protest at this forced labour for the bourgeoisie. And all those precious jobs taken away!

Remember Arthur Scargill? Back in the 80s he made a prolonged song and dance about saving British coal miners’ jobs from being lost to mechanization. As a young and loyal lefty [no need to mutter ‘wet behind the ears’] I was surprised when wiser heads suggested he may not be acting in the workers’ best interests. Perhaps being put down the pit every day of your natural life was not a desired end for a democratic society’s free men [and wimmin] in the latter part of the second millennium. Better to free those unfortunates from a perilous and tough subsistence to find employment above ground.

Now, working a checkout counter appears less hazardous than pit mining but it does not seem to inspire long service. The neon lit faces behind the tills change but, strangely, stay the same: young, dutifully smiling, representative of recent immigration policies and asking provocative questions about flybuys that prompt insecure feelings that I must be looking some marvellous financial opportunity in the mouth.

Impressed as I am by the ability of these people to pack plastic bags it is impossible not to suspect their talents could be better turned to less soulless drudgery.

Egalitarian Aussies like to reckon we don’t have servants. Yet we love good service. We are proud of a nation with no history of slavery. And we buy shiploads of stuff made cheaply overseas. No questions asked. Out-of-sight out-of-mind and toss some loose change in the bowl for the Xmas Appeal.

Our continent is full of work to be done.

There will always be Luddites throwing John Lennon’s Spaniards in the works – let them reminisce in peace about golden years in shoeboxes under the lake when everyone else was lucky.
Everyone else can get on and get a life. Let machines do the work of slaves.

Andrew Woodhouse
Franklin Winfield Woolworth (1852-1919) is rolling in his grave. His once mighty customer-driven empire is belittling itself, its employees and its customers.

In the ’80s I endured phones saying, “Please hold… we value your custom”.  After ten minutes, credibility evaporated. Then came self-serve petrol stations, a sure-fire method of getting dressed for dinner only find yourself arriving smelling like the Kurnell oil refinery. Then followed ATM machines, conveniently closed when hard cash was wanted.  But wait, there’s more.  Do-it-yourself camera processing, requiring a PhD in electronic photo engineering, is beyond me. After all, I was born BC, before computers.

Now I’m the check-out-chick as well. Woolies has introduced anti-human, self-swiping black boxes to pay for goods.

What’s next, a barcode on my forehead? I’m NOT a number. I’m a social animal, genus homo sapiens. I refuse to swipe and will wait, forever if necessary, to meet and greet an animate object.

I want to be served, not sieved.

It’s called customer service and is rapidly resorting to a heritage item.  I will lobby for its classification by the National Trust before it disappears.

So what’s next?   Do I unpack, bar-code items, do rosters and take control of the till? Come to think of it… umm! And do I finally get the mic, that commanding conch shell: “Price check aisle nine! Choc-mints, extra-large pack, for Mr Woodhouse, und mach schnell!”?

No, Woolies is de-humanising itself. This doesn’t alleviate staff tedium. It alleviates them of work, money and meaning in their lives. In these turbulent times, Woolies is giving us the two-fingered salute and adding thousands to dole queues. How un-Australian is that?

Is this company like H.A.L (Heuristically programmed ALgorithmic computer) the omnipotent computer force in Kubrik’s prophetic film, 2001: A Space Odyssey, part dream, part reality? HAL turned traitor, deciding to disable human life support systems to save himself. Space explorers fought back, deprogramming his functions until he was left blithering silly songs. Justice.

Take a stand against this innovation, I say. Stand and wait for a real person and a real smile with real meaning.