The automatic check out voice asks me "Will you be using your own bags?" I push "Yes" and proceed to place my cloth bags on the turnstile for loading. "Please remove the last item," is her robotic reply. I remove the bags, wait a second and put them back on the turnstile. "Please see attendant for assistance." I look around in search of the elusive "attendant." No one comes to my assistance. After a few more rounds with "the Voice," I load my groceries back into the cart and head for a "real" check out line. "Paper or plastic?" asks the flesh-and-blood check-out girl. I hand the bag-boy my cloth bags and he scowls and opens his mouth. I just glare at him. Then he puts the gallon of milk on top of the eggs.
a vine sprouts
in the compost pile