Byzantine checkout process at retail, restaurants, drives this Kansas columnist to distraction

I went to a big box on Saturday to buy three items: a USB flash drive, a bottle of Sprite and a bag of Twin Snakes gummies.

Finding the items took mere seconds. Completing the purchase, on the other hand, took what felt like ages. Civilizations rose and fell in the time it took to insert my credit card, interface with the swipe machine and answer the clerk’s repetitive questions. The checkout process had irritated me before, but this afternoon trip rocketed me to the next level. Yes, I might be sounding like Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes right now, but what’s the deal with making a simple purchase these days?

Companies behind the swipe machines and the stores that install them have stuffed the process with extra steps. You shouldn’t be required to complete a multiple-choice test to give someone your money.

One note before we begin. It may help if you imagine the following delivered to you in an oddly high-pitched, whiny voice.

Step by step

Here’s how the process works, at least for me (without the slightest exaggeration, mind you).

First, if you’re going through a self-pay kiosk, you have to scan your items. Most of the time this works without a hitch, unless you’re buying a bulky object that hides its barcode in a random, difficult-to-see spot. Or if you’re buying a piece of candy with the barcode wrapped around it. Or if you’re buying a piece of produce and have to enter its name or ID number like some detective running a search on an international criminal.

“Where is Mr. Broccoli? There he is! Next to that sultry seductress Miss Kale.”

Once you’re done with the scanning process, you’re asked if you want to enter your loyalty card. For certain businesses these cards make sense, but do I really need one to buy tacos? Or lengths of twine from the rope shop? And why do you want my phone number if I can’t find that card? I don’t answer my friends’ texts or calls, so I most certainly won’t answer texts or calls from Marge’s Exotic Animal Hut.

You might think that you can then scan your credit card and be on your way. But you’d be wrong!

The terminal now asks if you would like to donate to some charity. You can round up, it says, to help children in need. Or you can give them a dollar or two or five. At some locations, these exhortations sway me. If I buy gently used caftans with my 12-year-old at Goodwill, I will help support their mission. Of course. But don’t force the bedraggled clerk at the shoe store to explain how every cent paid to the “Happy Toes” foundation goes to restore historic footwear factories.

What about a warranty? You could add one of those if you’re taking home a computer or printer or Nintendo Switch. Who administers the warranty and what does it cover? Nevermind, just decide whether you want one, right now.

If you’re purchasing a meal at a fast casual restaurant, you might face a different question at this stage. “Would you like to leave a tip for the team?”

As a rule, I would like to leave a tip. But tipping has traditionally been done in sit-down restaurants after a specific waiter or waitress serves you. If I’m eating at Cousin Dweezil’s Sandwich Shack, which calls my name out when my order’s ready, who precisely am I tipping? Will the tip will go to the folks who made my meal? If it’s split multiple ways, should I be tipping more than I would usually? Restaurants occasionally accompany the question with a slogan: “Never expected, always appreciated.” That makes me feel worse.

In the midst of all this, you can leave a rating on whether the store lived up to your expectations. Sometimes the retailer promises to make a charitable donation in return. But I honestly expect little from shopping except the exchange of money for goods.

Okay, now you pay. You swipe or insert or tap your card. The payment occurs.

Or does it? At least one big box store now allows me to offset my payment with points earned on my credit card. Do I want to subtract $10 from the purchase price? Well, yes! I didn’t know it was an option before.

Then comes the final question. How do you want your receipt? You can have it via paper. You can have it via email. You can have it via paper and email. Or you can forego the receipt altogether.

By this point in the purchase process I’ve had enough. I’ve been forced to weigh too many options. I’ve tried to scan and produce my loyalty card and donate to a worthy cause. But now I have four distinct choices in how to handle a receipt. That’s four choices too many. Give me a receipt or don’t, just make the decision for me.

Or as the immortal Mitch Hedberg put it:

Profit first, always

I’m not sure why the checkout process has evolved into such an ordeal.

Perhaps a lack of entry-level employees has pushed stores toward self-checkouts. Kansas, for instance, enjoys a 2.9% unemployment rate. Those designing the interfaces haven’t come to terms with the fact that their card swipe machines and kiosks have become the main way customers interact with stores.

No one would design this daunting gauntlet on purpose. Instead, pieces have been added on at different times and for different reasons, leaving everyday folks behind. In the same way our government and institutions have increasingly served the entitled few at the expense of the beleaguered many, big box stores and their ilk have put profit ahead of customers’ experience. No matter what values their Pride Month merchandise may suggest, these retailers value the dollar above all.

Online retailers, meanwhile, vacuum up dissatisfied customers with a streamlined process and delivery right to your door.

I’m lucky, of course. As a Lawrence resident, I can drive downtown and buy from stores where I know the owners by name. These friendly ladies and gentlemen don’t burden me with too many choices. They might mention my habit of wearing pajama pants in public on weekends, but that’s a price I gladly pay.

Thanks for spending a few minutes with my kvetching today. Just don’t hand me any receipts.

This column has been updated to include two other potential steps in the checkout process.

Clay Wirestone is Kansas Reflector opinion editor. Through its opinion section, Kansas Reflector works to amplify the voices of people who are affected by public policies or excluded from public debate. Find information, including how to submit your own commentary, here.