Category: Rant

My checking out at Wal-Mart this afternoon must have set a new personal worst. I figure that it took me an average of 1.3 minutes to self-scan each of the 13 items I purchased.

The usual Wal-Mart self-scan problems reared their ugly head. I couldn’t get items to scan, no way, no how. I tried entering the bar code and it failed to register the item each time. The machine told me to take the item out of the bag and put it on the scanner. I called the self-scan assistance person about four times.

I see more problems with Wal-Mart self-scan machines than at any other retailer that uses them. I don’t know what causes the problems. It seems like — for one thing — the little glass cover over the scanner usually looks smudged and smeared, as if it needs cleaning. Whether that causes items not to register, I don’t know because I am not technically savvy about those machines or almost any other type of machinery.

But I do know I experience problems practically every time I use Wal-Mart’s self-scan. I also hear others complain. Go to “Google” and type in “Wal-Mart” “self-scan checkout” and see what kind of complaints you will see.

Why not go to a regular cashier and check out? Why it is for the exact reason I use self-scan machines in the first place. Usually there are long lines. If the cashier needs assistance with an item there is no telling how long it will take him or her to get it. If there is a computer problem of any kind with the register, it is like a Level I national emergency. And there are individual complaints that make me veer toward the U-Scan rather than the cashier.

Wal-Mart should, by now, realize their self-scan machines are for the most part, junk. The company should do something about it. Because one of these days, sure as shootin’, someone who already has had the Mother of all bad days is going to try to check out at the Wal-Mart self-scan and encounter major problems that make him (probably but could be her) berserk and he is going to take a hammer or shovel or some tool he was about to purchase and start walloping the machine until it turns into something unrecognizable. The shopper will, of course, be arrested and taken to jail.

Such incidents ultimately wind up on the news and one has to think Wal-Mart is going to end up the bad guy with such an incident. That can’t be good, unless Wal-Mart thinks any publicity is good publicity. Personally, I don’t think a company that has become as huge as it is did so by employing such a philosophy. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.

 Paul from Tokyo, my IT consultant extraordinaire, tried to teach me about tags over the weekend but my feet started swelling and it freaked me out so I didn’t learn a whole lot. Ah Paul, it might be awhile before I can snatch the pebble from your hand. Nonetheless, those red (for now at least) words which are of unequal size on the right sidebar are the tags I am talking about. Give them a poke and see where they take you. Neat huh?

 A product of a couple of middle-aged college friends on a weekend, one in Japan one in Beaumont, Texas. Much zany fun.

 Just a short thought. If I had more time today I would look up the origin of the saying: “He/she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

 I haven’t ever figured this one out though having gone through relationships which require 1) a bed and 2) a side of a bed, or if it is a really comfortable relationship 3) a bed, a side of a bed and a side of fries, I know what it means to wake up on the wrong side of the bed. It means a lot of unpleasantness.

 This morning I didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed exactly. I sleep by myself so the only problem with waking up on the wrong side of the bed is having to decide whether I want to roll back over to get up and go to the bathroom or get up and walk around the bed to go to the bathroom. Because that’s usually what I do when I wake up. I know, I know, too much information.

 This morning I woke up irritated and it wouldn’t matter what side of the bed from which I exited the bed.

 About 5 a.m. I woke up and couldn’t sleep. Probably some time about 6:45 a.m. I drifted off into light slumber when all of a sudden, that phone ring from my T-Mobile — you know that sweet, sickening, bell-like tune, that makes you want to do a Quasimodo — sang out: “De De De De De, De De De De De, Come answer me. F**k you let me be.”

 So I get up. I look at the screen and see no familiar name but I see familiar numbers, which are ones emanating from my part-time job’s home office in Dallas. I answer the phone and it goes: “Screecccchhhh, Squaaaaaannkkk, Deetleleteletlee.” I think: “Why is my office sending my cell phone a fax at 6:57 a.m.?” Actually, the better question is why is my office sending my cell phone a fax at all? I don’t have a fax at home.

 I tried to call my boss’ number. His voice mail said it was Friday and he was in the office. The last part might be true, but I know good and well today is Monday. I try calling his boss. She didn’t say what day it was on her voice mail but she was on voice mail, so… I hung up.

 I got back in bed and “De de de de de De de de de de.” And I thrust my right thumb harshly down upon the little red telephone with the sign of the beast, or whatever that is, above it.

 Back to bed where I had decided to alarm myself at 8:30 instead of 8. If I am a little late to my office, it’s the main office’s fault for faxing my cell phone. I fall asleep about 8:10 and my dying-cow alarm knocks me out of bed, readying me to either birth or bury whatever calf that might be on hand. Thank goodness, like always at least not for some 25 years, no cows.

 Not long after arriving at work our monthly, regional teleconference began. At the end where Q & A are bandied about, I asked my boss who or why tried to fax my cell phone. He said we would talk about it after the conference. It turned out to be no big deal. The main office was trying to fax my colleague who works out of her home. The unanticipated rings really didn’t aggravate me. I  guess maybe if the mistake had been made by someone I despised for some reason that ticked me off I would have been really pissed.

 But there was no one to really get angry with so I am instead just left a little tired after the whole ordeal. I can’t help but wonder what the reaction would have been with a bed-partner? Sheesh. Recalling some of the femme fireballs who at one time staked their claim to a side of my bed, chances are the situation would not have been as mellow as I now feel looking back on the episode.

 Maybe that whole “waking up on the wrong side of the bed” relates to sleeping with someone, as in a relationship. I got to look that whole thing up as it will nag at me like an old girlfriend. But I think I should first take a nap.

Oh and PS, Newton whipped/spanked/beat (sounding a little too S & M here?) Corrigan-Camden Friday night by a score of 40-21

Look at them. A page of jumbled letters, numbers and special characters I have written down on several different pages . It’s all for the sake of computer security.

I have about 15 different passwords for work-related sites, or should I say, my part-time work-related sites. Then I  probably have another 25 or 30 more passwords for personal use or for my other line of work.

Now, I must admit that contrary to all the warnings, I do sometimes use the same passwords to access different pages. I am warned over and over not to do that. But have mercy on a poor soul as me who does good to remember the grocery list.

I would almost be willing to bet that my number of passwords are even lower than many other computer users. But there are still too many passwords that fly out in front of me, leaving me dazed and confused.

Perhaps someone out there in the computersphere is working  on a way to minimize passwords. I mean, some sites can remember your password and login name. And then some sites say they can but don’t really do it, like my Verizon Wireless account. Maybe we should get Sally Struthers to do a TV commercial asking for bucks for developing a password-free world like she did seeking help for all those impoverished foreign children.

Please we need to limit passwords before people go stark raving mad. Time is running out!