Squirrel Bait and Other Stories

by Thomas P. Hanna

  Check It Out

  Fifty-something Molly McPhee wasn’t a notoriously patient person on her best days and today definitely wasn’t one of those. She had stopped in this new supermarket and nothing was where it was located in the ones she usually shopped so it took twice as long as usual for her to find what she wanted. But at least she did find almost everything on her shopping list.

  Now she stood at the front of the store facing the flashing sign that said this was the checkout area but it wasn’t like any supermarket checkout area she had ever seen before. Instead of open lines there were a series of Plexiglas tunnels that reminded her of the starting gates at a horse racing track.

  If you were claustrophobic, these might cause you a problem. From where she stood it seemed that there was a gate at the end of the tunnel where you would leave but she assumed that wasn’t actually to keep you from going out of the tunnel and the store. The entire aisle was enclosed in smoked Plexiglas which she suspected made it somewhat soundproof. She wondered if that was to keep your scream when you saw your bill from upsetting the other shoppers.

  She was particularly nervous because as far as she could see there was no one else in this area, no employees and no customers although two of the tunnels near the far end were closed right now so she couldn’t see inside. But the sign said to enter an aisle to begin the checkout process. Molly went into the aisle but only pulled the cart partway in behind her to block the type of panel that was blocking off those two end units from closing behind her and confining her in that plastic cocoon.

  She looked around inside. “What am I supposed to do here? Doesn’t anybody work in this aisle? This doesn’t look like any supermarket checkout lane I’ve ever seen before.”

  A synthesized voice said, “Good day, Madam or Sir.”

  “Huh?”

  “I am the F.R. S. seven hundred three ready to assist you”.

  “Is this some kind of a joke? Where are you? Stop hiding under the counter or wherever you are and let’s get this done. I don’t like all this fancy dancy machine stuff.”

  “BuyGood Markets welcomes you and thanks you for your patronage, For your convenience we have installed this totally automated checkout system that will speed you on your way while assuring you complete accuracy in tallying your bill.”

  “Come on, come on. The ice cream’s gonna melt.”

  “The system F.R.S. seven hundred three has many useful features that I will be happy to explain to you with a four minute video lesson. If you are already familiar with my operations please push the response button to move directly into the checkout sequence.”

  “Button? What button? I don’t see any button.”

  “Fine. Then we will proceed with the lesson. Welcome to the wonderful world of high technology. You are preparing to use one of the marketing world’s most advanced consumer interface systems. Congratulations on your wise choice.”

  “Button? There’s nothing within my reach that even remotely resembles anything I’d call a button. What are you guys trying to pull?’ Molly grumbled looking high and low.

  “The first item you need to become familiar with is the response button, so called because it is the button you must push to respond to my system prompts.”

  “Yeah, but where is it?”

  “Please note first the painted shoe prints on the floor.”

  “To heck with feet on the floor, where’s the darned button?”

  The computer voice gave its version of a polite laugh then continued, “Sorry, gentlemen, but we only had room for one set of foot prints and the ladies outnumber you so...”

  Molly shouted, “Don’t tell me demographics, tell me where the confounded button is.”

  “...you will have to play along with us.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this to me?” Molly demanded.

  “When you are standing at the indicated spot the front edge of the counter is the response button. press down on it gently but firmly.”

  “At last some useful information. Where is this confounded thing?” She slapped her hand on various sections of the counter.

  Finally there was a beep so she stopped. “That? That you call a button?” she said.

  “Now you have got it. Just push gently but firmly on that button whenever a response is called for.”

  “Who designed this dumb thing and hid the button in the decorative trim?”

  The computer continued right on. “As you see, the response button has been made unobtrusive so my encounter cubicle would look less threateningly technical. We hope you like our decision.”

  “I don’t. I dislike it very much but now at least I should be able to push you along and get out of here. Why oh why did I ever come into this store?”

  “Now I will familiarize you with...”

  “Skip that,” She shouted as she slapped at the counter hoping to hit whatever had made the sound before. After three slaps she was rewarded with a beep.”

  “The counter top is made of a special epoxy...”

  “How do we fast forward this thing, Mac? Let’s get to the ‘Here’s where we check out your groceries’ part.”

  A few more slaps and another beep but nothing seemed to change.

  “The scanner uses a laser beam to...”

  She had at least gotten one bit of it now. She hit the counter repeatedly. Beep, beep, beep. But nothing else happened.

  Molly said to herself, “Maybe I should just walk out and leave this stuff here. I could get it all at a sensible store that I know how to deal with.”

  The computer announced, “Please note that one of my security features prevents you from exiting this cubicle until the transaction is complete and the appropriate sum tendered. This is to prevent shoplifting and mistakes and should result in lower prices for all of our prized customers.”

  “Holy smokes, I can’t even get out of this place. I’m like a mouse caught in a trap.”

  “To make you feel more comfortable in interacting with me, please feel free to call me Mike. That stands for Machine Intelligence, Kinder Edition.”

  “The other version must have been a real bruiser.”

  “I am programmed to respond to some voice commands if you hold down the response button while speaking slowly and clearly into the microphone.”

  “Oh no, not another hidden device. I can’t take this.”

  “For your convenience the microphone is placed in the counter top just upstream of the laser reader scanning plate.”

  “More great design features,” Molly said with scorn.

  “Please remember that your groceries cannot be sitting on that spot if you wish to use voice command responses.”

  “Of course not. It’d make too much sense if I could talk into the microphone and position the groceries to be scanned at the same time. We don’t want this high tech shopping experience to be rushed.”

  “If you wish to proceed using voice commands I will give you a five minute tutorial in the acceptable commands that my system is programmed to recognize and respond to.”

  Molly slapped at the counter and got a beep in response. She grumbled, “More delay. Move it, Mac. Cut to the chase, for the love of Mike.”

  “Yes? Did you address me? My acronym was spoken. You have now entered voice control mode.”

  “Aw, Mike, I just want to get my groceries processed and get out of here.”

  “No problem. I will be happy to begin the checkout process without further delay.”

  “I don’t believe it. This time it’s actually cooperating and doing what I want to do.”

  “Please line the items on the conveyer belt in single file. If possible, put multiples of the same item, like three cans of the same soup, together. When you are ready for the first group of items to be scanned, press the response button.”

  “That seems straight forward enough.”

  She made a single line of bottles and packages down the counter then pushed firmly on the edge of the counter.

  “Thank
you for indicating your readiness. Please indicate the processing speed you prefer by the number one, two, or three and I will proceed.”

  “I guess the faster the better. Three.”

  “Thank you. I will proceed at too speed.”

  Suddenly the machinery sprang into action and in about two seconds with a cacophony of crashing and crunching sounds all the items that had stretched down six feet of conveyor belt were in one jumbled heap on the other side of the scanner.

  Molly couldn’t even get her words out before it was over but they spilled out afterwards. “Stop! Are you crazy? Holy smokes, look what you’ve done to those things!”

  “If that is not satisfactory, perhaps you would like to proceed at a slower speed,” the computer suggested.

  “Yeah, like about one tenth speed should do just fine. Then the groceries might survive to reach my car anyway.”

  “An added consumer bonus of working at the slower rate is that I am enabled to call out each item as it is scanned to reassure you that the items are being correctly identified and priced.”

  “But, Mike, that would imply that I think you’re capable of error. Perish the thought.”

  “Sarcasm is not pretty.”

  “Neither are smashed tomatoes and corn flakes reduced to dust,” Molly replied as she surveyed the damage.

  “To proceed, position the next group of items on the conveyer belt and then push the response button.”

  “I’m gun shy now, Mike, old boy. I don’t know if I’m willing to take a chance on it. Maybe I should cut my losses by deciding not to buy the rest. I’ll pay for the destroyed stuff and leave.”

  “Come on, Madam or Sir, where is your sense of adventure?”

  “I think it got crushed between the canned peas and the chocolate éclairs. Oh my goodness but that did a job on the chocolate éclairs.”

  “They will still taste as good once you get past the appearance part of it.”

  “I guess so but it’ll really be hard to overlook their mangled appearance,” Molly said pulling that package from the pile.

  “I am ready to proceed when you give the signal.”

  Molly could see no alternative, so she lined up a few items and pushed the button. “Okay, here goes nothing I hope.”

  “Cut snap beans, A-Three brand. Sixty-five cents. Scouring pads, ten count. Generic brand. Ninety-eight cents.” It added an electronic cheep, cheep.

  “Just ring up the damages, Mike. I don’t need any commentary, thank you.”

  “Bananas, two and one half pounds. Ninety-seven cents.”

  “They’re a rip-off but my mother insists on eating one every day. The middleman gets all the profit. It’s not fair.”

  “I regret that I am not programmed to discuss the politics of the world agricultural situation with you.”

  “I’ll be content if you just keep listing the groceries so we can get this done.” She put the next items on the counter.

  “Dish detergent, inferior brand, twenty-four ounces. Seventy-nine cents.”

  “You don’t have to use the stuff, so spare me your ratings.”

  “Apple, three pounds. One dollar seventy-one cents.”

  “Apple! That’s a rutabaga and they’re going for twenty-three cents a pound. Get it right, Mike.”

  “I must disagree. The FRS seven hundred three is programmed to correctly identify all fresh produce stocked in this store. I accept your apology for inappropriately trying to outsmart me.”

  “Look, machine, I know a rutabaga and I know an apple and that’s a rutabaga. At twenty-three cents a pound. Plus, who’s ever heard of a three pound apple? Correct it.”

  “The correct identity of the produce in question is rutabaga at fifty-seven cents a pound. Allow me to assure you that I have superior knowledge of these things since I am a computer.”

  “Correction, what you are is a computerized turkey. One I have had enough of you. Get me a human being over here and make it fast.”

  “The FRS seven hundred three is designed to handle all consumer interactions directly. No further assistance is required. If you will simply be reasonable you will concede that I am correct and you are in error. I will not even charge you extra for that.” It gave its tinny synthesized laugh again.

  “I guess you leave me no alternative but to break you. Remember, you asked for this.’ Molly said.

  The computer voice called out loudly, “Warning! Any assault on my structure will result in serious electric shock which may cause permanent injury.”

  Molly smiled. “Don’t be silly. I’m not going to beat you up, I’m going to fry your little silicon brain.”

  “Warning! Any open flame will evoke a protective spray of fire retardant foam which may irritate your eyes and damage your clothing.”

  “I think I’m detecting a note of panic in your voice, Mike. Maybe you should be prudent and signal for a human to come and take over here.”

  “I can do this. I am programmed to deal with far worse than this. It is no sweat for me.”

  “Here you go then. We’ll play what’s that?” Molly said.

  “Facial tissues, 100 count. Three dollars forty-nine cents. Ground sirloin, two pounds, thirteen ounces. Forty-three cents.” It gave a beep and then an electronic whistle. “I apologize. Something is not correct. That does not compute. Please pass those items over the scanning plate again.”

  “I think I’m ahead so I’m going to decline your request. Here’s some more for you. Isn’t it wonderful what you can do by adding a few little lines to the bar codes? If you weren’t programmed to verify the package weight and general appearance with the bar code number this wouldn’t have any effect but you’re vulnerable and that’s what’s going to break you.”

  “Monster meal dog chow, 500 pound bag. One dollar twenty-nine cents.” Again a beep followed by a whistle. “Please pass that item over the scanner again. My check of the store inventory list fails to locate that item for sale here. There seems to be a problem with the bar code.”

  Molly leaned close to the microphone and said, “I think that whirring sound I hear is your electronic brain starting to percolate, machine. Can’t identify the merchandise? Can’t verify the items? It should be about ‘Call in the human’ time.”

  “I can handle this. I have been programmed to handle every foreseen situation.”

  “I’m royally annoyed that you’ve put me through all this inconvenience, machine, but I am getting some slightly sadistic pleasure out of tweaking you and detecting your soft spots. We humans have a thing about too smart machines.”

  “That is a very childish attitude and unworthy of you.”

  “I know and I’m so-o-o ashamed of showing you this item.”

  “Fresh As A Daisy Kitty Litter, three ounce box. I am sorry, we do not stock three ounce boxes so that item does not exist. No charge.”

  “Now that’s a price I can live with, especially for a pound of imported Swiss cheese. What do you make of this one?”

  The response was a harsh electronic noise. “I am sorry but that item is not for sale. It does not have a valid bar code programmed into my system. Please place it in the reject bin on the far side of the counter top. We cannot proceed until my sensors indicate that it has been turned in. Please do not violate this rule.”

  “I think we have a winner, Mike. This is the one you can’t deal with so it’s fry the silicon chip time.”

  The harsh electronic noise was repeated several times. Finally the computer’s voice said, “Okay, okay, you win. Someone is on his or her way. I hope you are satisfied now. They will probably send me back to checking for overfilled bottles on the beer bottling assembly line. Nice going.”

  “Forgive me if I’m less than sympathetic. This wouldn’t have been necessary if you had honored my request and called in a human to help me when I asked you to.”

  She looked up at the thin, straggly-haired youth with multiple piercings in and a scowl on his face who sauntered over. His nametag identified him as
Drek and she thought that was very descriptive of the person.

  “Yeah, whadaya want? You messin’ with the machine? We don’ like that. ‘Specially when I have to cut my break short to find out what’s happenin’.”

  “This is an improvement?” she asked herself.

  He looked at the register screen. “The computer already has you tallied up.”

  “But half the items haven’t been scanned,” she replied indicating her half-filled cart.

  Drek just shrugged and said, “That’ll be $3,455.67. Unless you have coupons you forgot to present at the start.”

  Molly laughed. “The computer’s revenge.” She squeezed around the cart and headed around the back of the line toward the exit marked for those without packages.

  “Hey, where you goin’? You didn’t pay for this stuff,” Drek called after her.

  “I just realized I left my wallet in my other handbag so I’ll have to leave all that for you. Enjoy.”

  Drek cautiously poked the package on top of the heap of crushed-together groceries. “Were those things chocolate éclairs? Wow! You’d never guess it to see that mess.”