When self-checkout debuted, I was in awe. I’m an extroverted introvert, so while I loved to shop, I was thrilled I could scan, bag, pay for my items, and leave, no interaction necessary. Gone were the awkward glances of the gentleman scanning my tampons, ice cream, zit cream, and diet soda — it was simply the blinking red dot now. As the machines became more prevalent, I saw less and less of my fave Target employees and the enthusiastic greeters at my local Walmart became an ever dwindling bunch. Stores remodeled and added luxury brands, along with partnerships with other popular retailers. The remodels and collaborations were an aesthetic dream in comparison to their former selves, a retail retelling of The Ugly Duckling. Yet, as I ventured to these ‘new and improved’ locations, it begged the question: Where did the people go? As a survivor of a combined decade of retail employment, I sought out my brethren. Except, they weren’t there. A lone lane lit by a pathetic green light was the only beacon for any individual that wanted a human being to check out their products. Station upon station lined the front, all self-checkout, with most having a disclaimer they could only process card payments, no cash. As time passed, different stores of all sizes added their own self-checkouts.
I like to live under the illusion I operate with a certain level of logic. The machines could be efficient and allow for resources to be distributed in other areas of the store, such as hiring more staff to shelve and maintain departments. However, I haven’t experienced it. As the pandemic hit, I saw an ever growing increase in their usage, sanitized between uses by the sole employee responsible for monitoring the equivalent of 10 registers. One person to monitor the financial transactions of dozens of people at a time, often called away to correct an error with the machine, leaving the stations unsupervised save for a surveillance camera.
This did not seem logical to me. In retail, we’re taught about loss prevention and shrinkage. Essentially, how much product is your store or stores losing due to theft? That number is analyzed with other metrics to determine price. The less people steal, the less expensive items are, the more money we save and the more money the store earns. As long as shoplifting and theft have been an issue, there have been methods and procedures to minimize shrinkage. From small town shops on Main Street to huge club warehouses, people steal. In a more innocuous context, let’s be honest, growing up, how many kids took a piece of candy their mom wouldn’t buy? How many times has a teenager lifted a product based purely on peer pressure and a dare? As an early teen in the late 1900s, my friends and I wandered a huge expanse, where large groups of stores shared a space called a mall. They had benches, fake plants, bad skylights, and food courts. These real estate relics had security guards and loss prevention team members to minimize theft. Every weekend, there was always one person calling their parents from mall jail because they tried to jack a pair of earrings from Claire’s or a CD from Sam Goody.
Those days are gone. Malls are drying up.
There aren’t security guards or loss prevention agents keeping an active guard for theft. Grocery lanes have been ripped out to have more floor space for more products. The employees that checked out their customers’ groceries? Gone.
Underpaid, overworked, underappreciated retail staff process returns and exchanges in the same lane others are using to check out anything from clothes to bananas.
Money has always been king and queen and we’ve always been the peasants. Self-checkout seemed like an interesting concept to me at first, a way to disperse resources and make shopping an even better experience. Yet, I wasn’t surprised checkout lanes were ripped up to add more space for the planograms. Employees in stores I’d shopped at for years weren’t there anymore. Over time, I changed careers and others stayed in retail. Co-workers that had been in Black Friday battles with me were laid off due to restructuring. There was a sweet old man that sang to each customer as they entered one particular big box store. Then, one day, the music stopped.
Technology has benefited mankind in so many ways and I have no doubt there’s more innovation to be had.
In theory, allowing a customer to check out their own tampons, zit cream, ice cream, and diet soda is still a great idea. Until it isn’t.
I went holiday shopping today. Opted for the e-receipt option the store gives me upon self-checkout. As I was leaving the store, a man that could’ve been a greeter in a different era asked to see my receipt. I declined as I was in a hurry and don’t think I have an obligation to show a stranger my emails or texts. As I stood next to my cart, a manager was called over. She requested to see my receipt. I restated it was an e-receipt as offered as an option by the store. Things got spicy. Please understand however, that Karen will not be playing me in the Netflix movie. The hands of these employees are tied by a corporate system and if they go off script, they don’t have a job to feed their families and pay their bills. Yes, I was internalling boiling over in self-righteous anger, but I complied and showed the manager the receipt. She apologized and explained that a man had walked out only hours earlier with thousand of dollars in electronics and they had to check receipts as a manner of theft prevention and deterrence.
Driving home, mulling it over, my anger only grew.
It grew because people are losing jobs en masse as large retailers restructure to make more money and collaborate with major brands and other stores. It grew because one employee is responsible for making sure no one at any of the stations are stealing, responsible for correcting machine errors, and scrambling to find a checkout for a person paying in cash, or help a less tech savvy customer learn to use the machine. I got angry at myself for being a brat to make a point, a point these employees understood all too well. I got angry that we don’t have many retail options in some areas and these are the only places locals have to shop and many, to find employment with, so again, hands are tied.
Large shopping centers like malls existed for decades before this — like ‘em or not, there were people trained in loss prevention and security whose sole role was to minimize shrinkage.
Y’all dropped major areas of loss prevention to save money, created a self-service system to cut costs and maximize profit, put a target on the backs of the individuals that have to read the tiny text of an illegible receipt that belongs to an irate customer to ensure theft hasn’t taken place.
I’m a mom, I’m a writer, I’m a photographer, I’m a coffee enthusiast, what I am not is a loss prevention agent. I came to buy a new pair of shoes, not be interrogated by an employee that doesn’t want to ask for the receipt as much as I don’t want to show my receipt. While in no manner an expert, perhaps instead of adding a limited edition designer collection in the pet section, hire security personnel instead. Maybe hire loss prevention staff to walk the stores.
We are your customers, not your employees. And bring back the singing greeter.
Photo by Jacek Dylag on Unsplash
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