If there is a self-checkout at a store, then I usually prefer to use it. If Heidi is with me, we have the process down to an art: I scan and she bags; I pay while she loads the cart, and we are on our way in no time. Tonight I was shopping solo, but my hand basket did not have very many items, and so I naturally stepped up to the open station and set my groceries on the shelf.
Running my fingers over the touch screen, I accidentally activated the Spanish language option, and once I was in it, I could not find a way to exit. The store employee who was assigned to the area was occupied with another customer, so I made the decision to muddle through, despite the fact that I have never taken a lesson of Spanish in my life. I had my familiarity with the process going for me, plus all the parent meetings with Spanish translation I've sat in on over the last 27 years, and so early on, I was confident of my success.
I entered my número de teléfono to avoid scanning my shopper's card, and from there I quickly scanned my items. Hearing the transactions and discounts described in a robotic voice in Spanish was a bit disconcerting, and I looked around furtively to see if anyone was paying any attention to the blond Anglo lady checking out in Español.
Seeing no interest, I continued emptying my basket until I got to the last item I had, cilantro. The barcode on the twist tie did not scan, and I frowned as I looked at the options on the screen. I punched the big square that read sin código de barras and was presented with an alphabetical list of produce, in Spanish of course. I navigated to the Cs, but cilantro? was not there either in picture or word. Flustered, I swiped quickly through the alphabet without any luck. Fortunately, I recognized the back button, and by luck was able to navigate to the screen where you can type in the name of your purchase. C-I-L brought up hierba cilantro and with relief I entered the numero, 1.
After that, it was screen memory that allowed me to check out and tap my watch to pay for my groceries. As I lifted my bags to go, the attendant came to remove my basket and clear the station for the next customer.
"Esto es tuyo?" he said holding up the phone I had left behind.
"Oh my gosh, yes!" I answered. "Thank you!"
"Uh, you're welcome?" he said, slightly confused.
Walking away, I was so relieved that the transaction was over, but my mind returned to all the interactions I have had at school with parents who do not speak English. We do what we can to accommodate them, but now I had a tiny, firsthand view into how stressful it must be to navigate the whole world in a language you do not speak.
Running my fingers over the touch screen, I accidentally activated the Spanish language option, and once I was in it, I could not find a way to exit. The store employee who was assigned to the area was occupied with another customer, so I made the decision to muddle through, despite the fact that I have never taken a lesson of Spanish in my life. I had my familiarity with the process going for me, plus all the parent meetings with Spanish translation I've sat in on over the last 27 years, and so early on, I was confident of my success.
I entered my número de teléfono to avoid scanning my shopper's card, and from there I quickly scanned my items. Hearing the transactions and discounts described in a robotic voice in Spanish was a bit disconcerting, and I looked around furtively to see if anyone was paying any attention to the blond Anglo lady checking out in Español.
Seeing no interest, I continued emptying my basket until I got to the last item I had, cilantro. The barcode on the twist tie did not scan, and I frowned as I looked at the options on the screen. I punched the big square that read sin código de barras and was presented with an alphabetical list of produce, in Spanish of course. I navigated to the Cs, but cilantro? was not there either in picture or word. Flustered, I swiped quickly through the alphabet without any luck. Fortunately, I recognized the back button, and by luck was able to navigate to the screen where you can type in the name of your purchase. C-I-L brought up hierba cilantro and with relief I entered the numero, 1.
After that, it was screen memory that allowed me to check out and tap my watch to pay for my groceries. As I lifted my bags to go, the attendant came to remove my basket and clear the station for the next customer.
"Esto es tuyo?" he said holding up the phone I had left behind.
"Oh my gosh, yes!" I answered. "Thank you!"
"Uh, you're welcome?" he said, slightly confused.
Walking away, I was so relieved that the transaction was over, but my mind returned to all the interactions I have had at school with parents who do not speak English. We do what we can to accommodate them, but now I had a tiny, firsthand view into how stressful it must be to navigate the whole world in a language you do not speak.
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