Tooters:

Yesterday I skitted over the formerly crumbling, now bottlenecked bridge that permits travel through our nation's tiniest state. I celebrated life on the off ramp.

I was off to seek a sheaf of kale from the wholesome food cave, among other things.

On approach to the postage stamp sized parking lot I spied three trucks awaiting loading dock access. "Huzzah!", I shouted to the drivers of the trucks full of goods, hoping to appear as a scion of a new england dynasty.

I had some unsavory business with the cave that may possibly upset the retail spirits. I did not want to appear sullen upon my approach to the doors.

In truth, I was returning privacy smartkeys that would allegedly work on any platform to fend off robbers but alas, it was not true. The keys did not work on any opensourced platforms.

My tiny return seemed not to upset the inventory hive mind. Maybe it knew I was trying to secure anonymity and was pleased at my failure. The transaction went smoothly and I was bouyed by the swift and peaceful conclusion.

After wandering amongst the food cave's offerings, wondering at markups, I found my $2.99 sheaf of kale and delicately admired it for its wholesome quality.

I approached chutes and the human assistants were all looking away, and other retail clergy were busy focused on their machines. I had a choice to ponder quickly, before being being pegged as a hesitant shopper.

Do I brave the self-checkout, which if poorly scanned would certainly upset the natural and organic order of the store? Or should I attempt human assistance?

Humans felt like the proper choice.

I offered the barcoded kale to the assistant, heard the approval blip, scanned the pay card and waited for the point of sale screen to show me the results of my shopping. But there was no price, no state taxation augmentation, no grand total. Just pictures of food and their cute names passing through the point of sale device.

But what is this? Is this a message to me on this screen? It was a message. It was from the inventory hive mind. Was it angry with me because of my return? Or was it pleased for my abandonment of opensource privacy?

The message asked me if I wanted to enjoy 10% off. I only had to press an OK button to proceed. Certainly this was some sort of joke. Of course I wanted the contractually guaranteed 10% off. Why wouldn't I? And how could I say no? I couldn't, for there was only a button saying 'Ok'. I pressed Ok.

And in the moment that it took to decipher that seemingly innocuous 10% advantage that I already had, the checkout had rang up $70 plus dollars of groceries from the person behind me and charged it to my card.

A midlevel clerk turned then cried out that we'll have to get the supreme clerk to fix that, The concerned consumer behind me offered to pay for my kale in order to restore peace and shopping order.

I declined her kind offer, for she clearly was as confused as i was about what had just happened.

All the items which I did not buy were rescanned and removed from my mysterious grand total and I was handed two receipts that showed my recent shopping. It is then, that I saw what had happened, I was also paying for the person behind me.

But, but, this sheaf of Kale is only $2.99, I said feebly, I'm paying $3.10 after all this refunding. Does the state tax groceries I asked the supreme clerk?

She frowned, and replied that is the cause of the toothpaste. She turned to her retail duties.

What is she talking about I thought to myself. She looked up and asked if I wanted the eleven cents?

I replied with yes and please. A precious penny and a shiny dime were placed in my palm. And I walked quickly from the store praying that the inventory hive mind was not displeased.