We have a new red light district in Mahoosuc Mills. It’s called self-checkout, down to the A&P. If you’ve ever tried it, you know, it’s harder than it looks.
We only have a couple of ’em, but some of the bigger stores down to Bangor have like ten self-checkouts and one of two cashiers on. Sure, if you’re a wiz-bang with tech or if you only have a few things to ring out, go for it.
But for most people, it takes ’em two or three times longer than normal, and somebody’s usually gotta be there to help them. Like yesterday, I’m coming back from a break, and I spot ol’ Henry Doucette standing beside a self-checkout machine, red light flashing. I walk up and see his groceries scattered all over the floor.
“Hey, Henry. Looks like you could use a hand.”
“Ida, I can’t figure this thing out! I punched “organic bananas” by mistake, tried to change it. Now the register’s stuck and everything’s a mess.”
“Not a problem. We’ll get things right as rain in no time.”
“There was only one register open and there was a line, so I thought I’d give this a try. See, I don’t want to leave Millie alone too long, in case she needs me.”
Henry must be in his late 70’s, I’m guessing, and his wife has cancer for the second time. I hear it’s in her bones now.
“How’s Millie doing?”
“Not too good, Ida. ‘Bout all she has going for her is her attitude. She’s always been my ray of sunshine. That hasn’t changed.”
“She’s lucky to have you, Henry.”
“We’re lucky to have each other.”
“That you are. Now, let’s get you sorted out, huh? All this stuff on the floor’s already been rung out?”
“Yup, didn’t know what to do with it.”
“Why don’t you start bagging it up. Heavy stuff on the bottom, and don’t overfill the bag. I’ll tackle the register and ring out the rest of your groceries.”
“Thank you, Ida.”
As I’m getting things straightened out, we continue chatting. “You have some help at home, Henry?”
“Nope, it’s just the two of us. But Ivette Plourde and Connie Arseneault drop by once a week, clean the house, tidy things up, do a little laundry. Don’t know what we’d do without ’em. “
“That’s what friends are for.”
“And some of them widows are already circling, bringing by casseroles. No need to name names.”
“Honest to God! Dad used to reach for his cane when he saw them coming. You know, for self-defense, he’d say.”
“What a character.”
“That he was. I miss him. Hey, my sister, Irene, works down to the Senior Center. She knows how to work the system, connect you with resources. Would it be okay for her to drop by? Maybe she could help lighten the load.”
“We might be up for that. I’d have to talk it over with Millie.”
“Let me know next time I see you. Alright, you’re all squared away.”
“Ida, why do we have to use this self-checkout now? “
“You don’t. I’m here Monday through Friday, 11 to 5:00. If I’m on break, you ask ’em to come get me and I’ll ring you out.”
“You will?”
“Sure, Henry. Anytime.”
“Thanks, Ida.”
“Say hi to Millie for me!”
“I will.”
Folks, if you’re stumped by the self-checkout, leave it to the professionals. We’re fast, friendly and we know what we’re doing. Most of the time!
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Red Light District