How self-service is no service, and why the human touch will always win out over technology and AI

I’M very much an old school type of person. I was old school before I was ever even old, that’s how old school I am. How it manifests with me is that I’m not a huge fan of chang,  and why I mention this at all is because change seems to be everywhere I go these days. Specifically, so many regular everyday services are being automated or are going self service and frankly … I’m terrorised.

The thing is that I’m what you might say ‘bad’ with technology. I consider it a success if I manage to get something (anything, not even the thing I ordered) from a vending machine. Another example is that it took me years before I worked up the nerve to put petrol in my car myself, not out of laziness, but out of fear that I’d somehow mess it up  (although remember when someone would do that for you? I miss those days … especially when I’m wearing a really dodgy outfit). This is where
I’m at.

I’m that person on a work course, who when the instructor says ‘now press enter on the keyboard and you should all see A/B/C’ and I’m like ‘What? Sorry, mine’s not doing that, it’s doing something a bit weird, oh and now it’s after freezing;’ they’ll come and investigate and declare ‘In all my born days I’ve never seen this happen before … most unusual. What did you do?’ They always try to pin it on me like. But I suppose it’s a bit like when an animal senses you’re afraid of them, so can machines; they sense my trepidation and take full advantage. Basically when I’m around, the computer always says no.

Now that I’ve painted a bit of a picture, you’ll see why the world has become a tricky place for me. For example, supermarkets now primarily have self-service check outs which fill me with fear. As if the weekly shop wasn’t stressful enough already. Is it just me or are those pesky barcodes harder to locate than you might think? How do the operators make it look so easy as they glide everything through in the blink of an eye, while chatting? Also how do you know which side is the bagging side? And not that I would, but what’s stopping anyone popping a few items in the bag (once it’s on the right side) without paying? The whole thing is fraught with danger for someone like me who can barely handle the self-weigh salad bar – no wonder I’m prepared to wait any amount of time for an actual human operator. And gosh, those waits are getting longer and longer.

The bank is also a place that can test my last nerve, although I have to say the staff in my local branch are outstanding at recognising my thinly-disguised panic as I approach the self-service booths, and will assist me every step of the way. ‘Place your €20 in there now, that’s it, well done, and press €20, now press the green button and there, all done now, bualadh bos, well done you!’ I made that last bit up, but the rest is pretty standard for me. But I mean why put me through that ordeal at all? Wouldn’t it be just as easy to just take me at the cash desk in the first place?

My little recent overnight to London also presented further obstacles starting with the self-service check-in at Cork airport. Usually my husband will deal with all these things for me, but as I was travelling solo I had to figure it out myself. Joking. A lovely lady at the Aer Lingus desk sorted me out and even advised that my luggage was slightly over weight and to be careful on the return. Sound. Heathrow, not so much. There were loads of staff on the ground, but only to direct me to do the task myself. I felt I should tell them I had the potential to grind the whole place to a halt (I was basically the human equivalent of volcanic ash) but there wasn’t time as I was ushered forward and told to start scanning. And sure of course I made a bags of it (excuse the pun) and they had to do it for me as the queue backed up – again, wouldn’t that just have been easier in the first place?

Our hotel room was also a piece of work – all touch pads. Not a light switch in sight. Thankfully my co-travellers were a bit smarter than me but we still struggled with working the main light in the room and got quite the fright when we saw our make up when we got to the restaurant (we all went a bit heavy with the bronzer). The aircon was also impossible to fathom and we woke up around 3lbs lighter, like jockeys ready for Cheltenham, and parched out of our minds.  Ultimately, what I’m saying is to be careful of what job you choose because it seems like there’s machine ready to do it for you  – not even the poor light switch is safe. In the meantime, I’ll try to navigate this ‘new’ world of ours as best I can but if you see me causing an almighty problem some place or other, please come to my rescue (that includes at the Returnables machine).

Anyway, it was big week in our household as the youngest member turned ten – double digits. Her actual birthday is on International Women’s Day and she celebrated the day before with her pals, lots of other brilliant little women. There were marshmallows, pizzas, and every sort of inflatable object to bounce on you could think of. It was absolutely joyful. It doesn’t matter that self-scanning machines hate me, this was reminder that there’s so much to be grateful for in life – mainly that because they’re all getting older I didn’t have to participate in a single minute of the bouncing myself. Praise be for small mercies.