Suffering through checkout is the worst part of any shopping trip. The judgmental nature of a clerk quizzically assessing why I need to purchase $320 worth of Marvel Legends action figures in one go doesn’t really bother me ( I need to make certain to get the whole waves while I can to ensure I have all the parts to complete the series’ Build-A-Figures—Duh!), but having to endure a few moments of forced social niceties sure as fuck does [I went back and forth for hours thinking about the usage of the objectionable word “fuck” here, but I think utilizing a little harsh written language in this scenario gives appropriate emphasis to my feeling regarding these types of interactions, and is thus the correct usage for such language].

My best friend/brother (I promoted him to brother in a YouTube unboxing video, so it’s legal) feels strongly about using the checkout lanes with actual employees, so I try to acquiesce to his wishes whenever we’re on a comics/toy/grocery run. I think I understand his moral values about wanting to support those workers’ jobs by using human-run rather than automated lanes, but hell if my blood pressure doesn’t spike every time some disinterested schmuck is forced to ask how I am and propriety requires me to choke out a robotic response that’s meaningless to all involved.

Consequently, I think self-checkout lanes are one of the great renaissances of our time. When used, no longer do I have to avoid eye contact with some kid or grandma trying to make “small talk” with me, nor do I have to be alert for rare instances where I’m oblivious to being “flirted” to. I can put my own Pokémon cards into a shopping bag without bending the pack or tossing them down too recklessly (risking damaging them).

I don’t want to sound like a sociopath or anything—I generally don’t have anything against (or for) hardworking employees. It’s just that whether it be calling for a pizza or a necessary doctor’s appointment, I’d rather bash my head into the wall than have to have that requisite interpersonal interaction. Having to communicate with another person sucks, and it’s particularly nightmarish having to interpret what others are really meaning by what they say or if they care at all. Add in complicating elements like oral “tones” and “body language” and the whole thing becomes even more of a Hellscape.

One of the cardinal sins of telling a story is to tell and not show, but I think I’m guilty of that here. I’ve been d so pall-encompassed by these difficulties all my life that it’s hard to recollect specific anecdotes .

Let me just let it be said that in the majority of the tens of thousands of times I’ve ventured into retail stores in my life, if an employee comes to ask me if I need help with anything or have any questions, I immediately leave the store. Even if I did need help or would have bought something, I feel too uncomfortable and just abandon ship. No Beanie Baby, Funko POP or Pikachu-colored anything is worth that kind of duress.

So yes, I am happy to pay rising prices for my toys and action figures, Target. Just please—please—keep those self-checkout lanes functioning.