The sound of a shoe … tap, tap, tapping on the tile … had been going on for a few minutes.
The woman in line behind me was letting me know she was tired of waiting, which wasn’t helping. The whole experience was not going according to plan, which led me to question what I was doing there in the first place.
For weeks, my husband had been raving about how great the sandwiches were and encouraged me to give them a try. Today, I needed gas anyway, so I stopped. The idea of getting a sandwich for lunch at a gas station seemed ridiculous, but as I walked in, I could see that this wasn’t a normal gas station. There were people everywhere, and most of them were standing around the fast, casual food display. I thought they were waiting in line. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was thinking that there would be a person to take my order. It took several minutes for me to get my bearings. From what I could figure, I had to place my order at a kiosk.
So, there I was … suffering through several failed attempts to submit my order for a turkey “shorty.” I think I heard the woman clap when I inserted my card and the machine spit out my order—number 310—and I joined the other people waiting around the sandwich pickup shoot. As I was walking out, I realized that aside from a couple of pleasantries, I hadn’t spoken to anyone. There was no need to. A machine took my order and my payment, and then a loudspeaker ordered me to pick it up.
This wasn’t my first experience with a kiosk, but it was different, I had an “Aha” moment. It seemed that the kiosk was put there not as a convenience for the shopper, but to replace a human. I didn’t find my gas station lunch experience particularly convenient. Kind of like scanning and packing my own groceries, the lure is that it will be faster, which is only the case if you’re not buying alcohol or spray paint—two items that routinely climb their way into my basket. Besides that, if I’m forced to be the grocery store clerk, I have no one to blame but myself if the bags aren’t packed properly. More convenient? I’m not so sure about that.
Artificial intelligence, as a convenience, sometimes does make sense. Consider the Redbox kiosk. When Blockbuster closed, there was still a desire to rent movies, and Redbox popped up! It’s simply Business 101: Fill a Need. My daughter Maddie and I loved to pick up a movie on the way out of the grocery store. There was something nostalgic about flipping through the digital pages and searching for a new movie. We both missed perusing the video store aisles, but this was working for us.
And speaking of movies … my all-time favorite kiosk is the ticket kiosk at the movie theater. My husband marveled at the speed of my fingers as they flew over the screen and secured our tickets. I was the star of date night! It’s important for you to know that I have not always been a dunce when it comes to checking out … because I’m not merely complaining.
I do have serious concerns.
Replacing checkout stand operators with AI has put a damper on my social life. The kids are gone; my husband has perfected the grunt for an answer. Who am I supposed to talk to?
Maybe I’ll write to my congressman. There must be a better solution than self-serve.