I have a complicated relationship with the self-checkout. It begins with optimism. "This will be quick." It ends with a machine, or should I say, Babs, the president of the HOA (HELPFUL ONLY in APPEARANCE) announcing to the entire grocery store: "Unexpected item in the bagging area." Yes. That would be my dignity. Thank you, Babs. I stare at the screen trying to make eye contact. Nothing. I remove the bananas. I replace the bananas. Babs remains unconvinced. Then comes the in