Self checkout

Mrs Brand had made what she believed was an excellent decision.

This was unfortunate, because many of history’s most entertaining disasters have begun with exactly the same thought.

The fridge was finally full again.

Bread. Milk. Fruit. Vegetables. Cheese. Yoghurts. Chicken. Pasta. Apples.

Normal food.

Responsible food.

The sort of food adults buy while muttering things like, “We’ll definitely use that broccoli this week.”

They never did.

Still, after the Great Subway Incident, Mrs Brand felt she had regained control.

She had not.

Friday morning arrived bright and warm.

Mr Brand was working upstairs, surrounded by two computer screens, three coffee mugs and approximately seventeen hundred emails that all appeared to be marked “Urgent.”

Mrs Brand had a video meeting in an hour.

“I just need to nip to the supermarket,” she announced.

“No problem,” said Mr Brand absently.

“I’m taking the boys.”

He looked up.

“All three?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause.

“Wouldn’t it be…quieter…to take a marching band?”

Mrs Brand smiled the tired smile of someone who had accepted that peace was now just a nostalgic memory.

“It’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

The supermarket was only a short walk away.

Barry pushed one of the little children’s trolleys.

He absolutely loved it.

He steered enthusiastically.

Unfortunately, enthusiasm and steering are not the same thing.

Within thirty seconds he’d accidentally parked the trolley underneath a display of breakfast cereal.

“Sorry!” he called cheerfully.

The cereal remained standing through what can only be described as luck.

Marmaduke followed behind with another little trolley.

He copied Barry’s every turn.

Barry turned left.

Marmaduke turned left.

Barry reversed.

Marmaduke was forced to reverse.

Barry crashed gently into a stack of baked beans.

Marmaduke thoughtfully crashed into Barry.

“I meant to do that,” Barry declared.

“So did I,” said Marmaduke.

Alfie walked behind them carrying the shopping list.

“I don’t think Mum meant ‘collect groceries using bumper cars.’”

Mrs Brand quickly gathered the extra things.

Shallots. 

Parmesan. 

Garlic cream cheese. 

Mr Brand’s toothpaste.

Every time she turned around, Barry had wandered three metres away.

He wasn’t escaping.

He was simply…investigating.

Four-year-olds don’t believe supermarkets sell food.

They believe supermarkets are museums where everything is touchable.

“Ooo!”

Barry tried to pick up a giant watermelon.

“Mum! Can we have this?”

“No.”

“It’s only little.”

“It weighs more than you.”

“Oh.”

Back it went.

Mostly.

It rolled slightly.

A nearby assistant caught it expertly.

Barry applauded.

“That was brilliant!”

“Thank you,” laughed the assistant.

In the bakery aisle the smell of fresh bread drifted through the shop.

Barry sniffed dramatically.

“I can smell doughnuts.”

“You’ve got an excellent nose,” said Mrs Brand.

“I know.”

“Can we have some?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve already got biscuits at home.”

Barry sighed.

Adults, he decided, were determined to remove every joy from childhood.

Halfway round the shop Mrs Brand’s phone buzzed.

A message from work.

She stopped for perhaps… Twenty seconds.

Twenty.

That was all.

Barry looked at Marmaduke.

“We’re helping.”

“Helping?”

“We’ll get some treats.”

“Ooo.”

“Everyone likes treats.”

“They do.”

“We know what Mum likes.”

“Chocolate?”

“Chocolate.”

“What does Alfie like?”

Barry thought.

“Healthy things.”

“What healthy things?”

Barry looked around.

Bananas.

Apples.

Carrots.

Then his eyes landed on a packet labelled… KALE.

“That.”

Marmaduke frowned. “It looks sad.”

“Healthy things usually do.”

Into the trolley it went.

Then Barry spotted marshmallows.

“They’re fluffy.”

Into the trolley.

Chocolate buttons.

Into the trolley.

Ice cream.

Into the trolley.

Three bottles of fizzy lemonade.

Into the trolley.

Party-size crisps.

Into the trolley.

Family-size chocolate bar.

Into the trolley.

Marmaduke copied every single choice.

Their tiny trolleys were now overflowing.

Mrs Brand turned around.

“…Barry.”

“Yes?”

“What…”

She blinked several times.

“…is all this?”

“We helped.”

“I can see that.”

Alfie peered into the trolley.

“Barry…”

“Yes?”

“Kale doesn’t cancel out twelve chocolate bars.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Eventually Mrs Brand removed most of the surprise shopping.

Barry looked disappointed.

“You never appreciate my ideas.”

“I appreciate them,” said Mrs Brand.

“I simply don’t finance them.”

Finally they reached the self-service checkouts.

Mrs Brand hesitated.

She knew.

Deep down.

She absolutely knew.

But every normal checkout had a queue.

Self-service looked empty.

“What could possibly go wrong?” she murmured.

The checkout machine heard this.

Machines enjoy irony.

“Barry,” said Mrs Brand.

“Would you like to scan a few things?”

Barry’s face lit up.

“I GET TO BEEP THINGS?”

“You get to beep things.”

This, to Barry, was better than Christmas.

He scanned the shallots.

BEEP.

The Parmesan. 

BEEP.

Mr Brand’s toothpaste. 

BEEP.

He was magnificent.

Focused.

Careful.

Responsible.

Mrs Brand felt proud.

Then Barry discovered the handheld scanner made exactly the same beep even if you scanned something twice.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEP.

The machine paused.

“Unexpected item in bagging area.”

Barry looked around.

“What item?”

“The machine says it’s unexpected.”

“We know,” sighed Mrs Brand.

“The machine has only just met you.”

“Oh dear,” whispered Alfie.

A cheerful supermarket assistant appeared.

“It happens all the time.”

She reset the machine.

“There we go.”

Mrs Brand smiled apologetically.

“Thank you.”

The assistant walked away.

Barry whispered to Marmaduke,

“It likes beeping.”

“I like beeping.”

“I wonder how many beeps is too many.”

Alfie overheard.

“The answer is always fewer than you’re planning.”

Mrs Brand tapped her card.

Approved.

Success.

Almost.

As she packed the shopping, Barry noticed the little moving conveyor beside another self-service till.

“It’s eating the baskets!”

“It’s returning them,” corrected Alfie.

Barry watched another basket disappear.

His eyes widened.

“That’s AMAZING!”

Before anyone could stop him…

He placed his own tiny children’s trolley onto the belt.

The machine did not appreciate this innovation.

It groaned.

Stopped.

Made a sad electronic noise.

An alarm sounded.

Marmaduke gasped.

“I think we’ve broken the supermarket.”

Several assistants hurried over.

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

Just briefly.

One assistant lifted the toy trolley off the conveyor.

Another reset the machine.

A third smiled kindly at Barry.

“Maybe keep the trolley on the floor next time.”

Barry nodded earnestly.

“I didn’t know.”

“We know.”

“You weren’t cross.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you were curious.”

Barry smiled.

“I was.”

Mrs Brand thanked every member of staff about fourteen times.

As they left the shop, Alfie looked at Barry.

“You know, curiosity is good.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“But next time…”

“What?”

“Perhaps ask before experimenting with machinery.”

Barry considered this.

“That’s fair.”

They walked home through the sunshine carrying bags full of groceries.

Mrs Brand counted heads every few seconds.

One.

Two.

Three boys.

Excellent.

Halfway home Barry reached into a bag.

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“I accidentally bought one packet of jelly babies.”

Mrs Brand raised an eyebrow.

“Accidentally?”

“It sort of…fell in.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“I saw it.”

“You saw it fall in?”

“No.”

“You saw Barry put it in?”

“Yes.”

Barry sighed.

“You are absolutely hopeless at being a partner in crime.”

“I know.”

“I always tell the truth.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

“Tell you what. Since you admitted it…”

Barry waited hopefully.

“We’ll all share them after lunch.”

“Even Alfie?”

“One or two,” said Alfie. “Everything in moderation.”

Barry grinned.

“There he goes again.”

“What?”

“Sounding forty.”

“I’m still only eight.”

Mrs Brand smiled as they reached home.

The shopping was complete.

The fridge was very full.

The self-service checkout had survived.

Just.

And somewhere inside Barry’s wonderfully curious little head, another spectacular idea was almost certainly beginning to form.

Parents have a special sense for these things.

It’s rather like animals sensing an earthquake.

Except the earthquake usually involves glitter, felt-tip pens or an unexpectedly expensive supermarket receipt.