Is This Much Convenience Really Good for Us?

I made a quick run to Sam's Club the other day for a few essentials. Turns out, it was a thought-provoking experience.

I opted for self-checkout: slide card, scan items, press a few buttons, and trust the system not to freeze up or pick up a bar code from the 75-inch flat screen television in the cart behind me. Okay.

But heading for the security checkout, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of a large metal structure looking a bit like a squared-off version of the famous McDonald's arches, which now framed the exit lanes. As I passed cautiously through this opening and extended my receipt to the staff member stationed there, she waved me on through without a glance.

Being me, I had to stop for an explanation: Apparently my cart items had been scanned by rays from that bizarre overhead apparatus I'd just swept through, and I was free to go. My spine registered a tingle, realizing that Big Brother computer not only knew the contents of my cart, but had also matched it to the receipt in my hand. Vague worries about what those mysterious beams might also be doing to my vital organs crept into my mind.

Driving home, I considered how many times in the past week I'd encountered similar mechanized conveniences:

•There's the power company's automatic conservation program, via which a consumer is no longer in control of their own thermostat.

•My library now automatically renews my book as the return date draws nigh.

•A call to my clinic no longer requires the use of a keyboard. I simply speak my request, which is both creepy, and then ultimately infuriating, when the cheerful female voice keeps "hearing" me wrong.

•Playing computer solitaire no longer requires the effort of a touch-and-drag motion. One merely selects the desired card, and it pops into its proper place.

•Simply swipe left to remove an old email and tap to use a credit card—a procedure I do not trust one bit after being double-charged at Chipotle using that very method.

And driving? I pilot a 23-year-old vehicle myself, so my neck gets plenty of exercise, but the newer models don't even require a turn of the head. The car does all the looking, and sometimes the steering or braking as well. Makes me wonder what driver education classes consist of these days.

This knotty string of thoughts also reminds me of the movie WALL-E, and its dire warnings about consumerism and sedentary lifestyles.

But I suppose these progressive trends have their benefits. During a recent trip to a Kwik Trip store, a dour young cashier trudged through a series of robotic movements to ring up my purchases, finally mumbling, "Have-a-good-one," though her eyes distinctly said or whatever.

At that moment, I found myself yearning for the melodious female voice from my last grocery store self-checkout. Ms. Automated Aldi sounded infinitely more sincere.