Meathman's Dairy: An unexpected item in the bagging area

There's a line in ‘Fr Ted’ when a horrified Mrs Doyle is shown the latest kitchen gadget that strikes to the heart of her very being - the TeaMaster, modern technology "that takes the misery out of making tea."

Faced with the vista of her beloved priests being served tae by some uppity electrical gizmo, she scowls, "maybe I like the misery".

And so it is with Aldi in Navan, following in the e-footsteps of Tesco and the recent introduction of its self service booths.

But here's the thing. Maybe I like facing the conveyor belt of chance and the trolley fill of fear at the end of a familiar wander around the aisles. Maybe I like the challenge of taking on Aldi’s quickest bun slinger and packing bags as quick as he can shoot the Jaffa Cakes at me... boxed goods on bottom for a secure base, working smaller tinned and jarred goods on top and a separate bag for the breads and squishables. Sometimes I even get a nod of approval from Wild Bill on the Till as I gently place my unblemished floury baps and butterhead lettuce on the top of the bag for life.

But there is a new 'choice' available for us shoppers and I've yet to make my peace with it.

You arrive at the tills now with your milk, bread, eggs, bottle of Peanut Greejio (optional), and the toilet seat and paint brush set from the middle aisle. But you've a dilemma. Queue at the one till with a green light behind the lady with the trolley laden with enough food to feed a rural village or succumb to the beckoning arms of the assistant desperate to lure you into their corridor of self loathing, sorry, service.

They've sacrificed a till and human for these solo stations of the swipe. You have one wee shelf to put your bits on, (not those bits) take a deep breath and away you go. There's lots of bending and lifting, twisting and rotating products trying to find the barcode. Then scan and place down on the other wee shelf. If you can beep your way to a finish and pay, you pick up your prizes and bound out the door like a boss as everyone else flounders... but it rarely works out like that.

'Excuse me, how do I scan the watermelon?'

'Sorry, where's the barcode on the scallions?'

'I've scanned a tray of this luxurious cat food pate, but I've 32 of them, what do I do?’

'Hi, when you have a second...I just want to bip these dozen cans of premium gin-and-tonics-in-a-can.’

'Sorry love, where do I put the notes... and what do I do with the voucher from my recycled cans.

If it's stress self service you're after, these computerised confessionals of chaos are for you.

I think I'll keep waiting for them to 'open till number three please', let the lad with the slab of cans skip ahead as I line my shopping up on the belt in order of size, weight and shape ahead of the game of pack-a-mole because... maybe I just like the misery.