At the risk of sounding immodest, I had previously never considered myself to be a stupid person. A simple trip to the grocery store this week disavowed me of that fantasy immediately. While I prefer ordering groceries online and sending hubby to pick them up, I only needed a few essentials so I opted to be a big girl, get some fresh air, and do it myself.

My first obstacle was getting into the store. It had been several months since I last visited this particular SuperStore. Since then, they have erected a double set of plexiglass barriers at the entrance to the produce section. I expect these cattle runs are designed to herd their customers through one-way security gates making it impossible to escape if you’re inclined to be a snatch-and-run shoplifter.

Somehow I ended up stranded behind the cash checkouts with no point of entry for me and my cart. I implored a cashier (probably the only one on duty) to show me where I could get in and she kindly removed a display of potato chips so I could slide into their sacred space. Once inside, I busied myself picking up the few things I needed, valiantly steering clear of the bakery section; my nerves were already fragile. As a matter of interest, try finding horseradish—I dare you to do it without asking for assistance, like I had to.

Usually, I prefer to have a live human being check me out as I feel like I’m saving jobs. This time, however, I noticed an entirely new and enlarged self-checkout section calling my name. Rather than unloading my goodies onto the conveyor belt only to reload them again myself at the other end (no baggers anymore), I thought skipping the reloading stage would save me time. Hah!

In the course of buying $63.00+ worth of groceries (which, as you know will buy very little these days), I had to ask the attendant at the self-checkout for assistance five times!! Because they no longer provide bags, I had to first enter the number of my own bags in the new machines. The machine sensed my bag and would not process the scanned price until I told them I had a bag . . . or didn’t. Of course, there were the usual glitches with weighing or counting produce with no stickers/codes which are always guaranteed show-stoppers.

After an embarrassing five calls for help, I was finally finished—I thought. Unfortunately for me, I had entered my credit card before scanning my Optimum card so when I tried to get my Optimum points I was screwed. Another call for help sorted me out. See what I mean about feeling stupid?

So, today’s lesson mes chères is I am going back to online ordering and getting hubby to pick it up. It’ll do him good to get out in the fresh air and sit in their parking lot for twenty minutes until someone brings our groceries out to the car. He’s older and falls asleep easily. The expenditure of time is still less than all the rigamarole I went through doing my own shopping and checkout. Thank the lord for people who get paid to do my shopping, search for hard-to-find items, tally it up, charge my card, and tote it to my car, or, better still, deliver it to my door.

Part 2  – It’s Not Over

That same trip also involved a wasted appointment at the bank. TD Canada Trust asked me to come into my branch and produce two forms of identification verifying I’m who I say I am to get copies of all my T3, T4, T5, T-whatevers. Last year I missed one when I tried downloading them myself and was slapped with an assessment by CRA for several thousand dollars. I do not want to go through that again.

I tried to retrieve my tax information online again this year but just to be on the safe side, I asked the bank to give me actual hard copies so I didn’t miss any. I got up early on Saturday morning for a 9:00 a.m. appointment, a time when I am usually still in my nightgown and downing multiple mugs of strong Yorkshire Gold tea, while perusing the morning papers.

The bank was unable to produce my documentation because their investment arm is closed on Saturdays (did they not know that when they made the appointment??). Furthermore, they needed my voice verification in addition to my bank card, my passport, my driver’s license, and a slice of my DNA to complete my request for my own tax information. I know these security measures are for my protection but multiple verification is driving me crazy, especially when they send a code to a cell phone number I no longer use.

As my age increases, my tolerance for inconvenience and hassle has severely decreased until I may be responsible for committing a felony. Everyday tasks that should be so simple prove impossible. I came home from the grocery store and bank utterly frazzled and frustrated, screaming loud enough for my husband and all the neighbours to hear, “I’m never leaving the house again. I’m ordering everything to be delivered to my front door”.

I own shares in Amazon and as long as I never sell my shares (necessitating an impossible-to-retrieve T-4-or-something), I’m getting richer by the day. I can even get nerve pills delivered from the pharmacy. and wine from another store. From now on I will manage just fine from behind my own front door. That’s how I cope with technology and the demands of this changing world.