The Self-Checkout Saga: A Masterclass in Obviousness

Agnes considered the self-checkout machine with the reverence usually reserved for ancient, inscrutable relics. It blinked at her with an alarming number of red lights, clearly protesting her attempts to scan a bag of frozen peas. "Unexpected item in the bagging area," a robotic voice announced with all the warmth of a digital icicle.

"Having trouble there, dear?" a voice chirped beside her. It belonged to Brenda, the self-checkout 'assistant,' whose primary job seemed to be pointing out the self-evident. Brenda wore a nametag that read, 'Here to Help!' – a claim Agnes often suspected was a cruel, cosmic joke.

"Oh, no, Brenda," Agnes replied, a smile stretched thin across her face. "I'm merely communing with the machine. It's telling me I have an unexpected item." She gestured grandly at the peas, which were undeniably in the bagging area and, equally undeniably, the item she was attempting to purchase.

Brenda peered at the screen, then at the peas. "Ah, yes. The peas. They're... in the bagging area." She nodded sagely, as if she had just deciphered the Dead Sea Scrolls. "Have you tried removing them and scanning them again?"

"Brenda, your insight is truly unparalleled," Agnes gushed, her voice dripping with an insincerity so thick it could be spread on toast. "I had considered attempting a complex ritual involving a goat and a full moon, but your simpler, more elegant solution to *scan the item again* has truly opened my eyes. Such genius! I daresay the Nobel Prize committee will be knocking any moment now."

Brenda beamed, completely missing the multi-layered sarcasm. "Glad to be of help, dear! Sometimes it just takes a fresh pair of eyes."

Agnes, with a sigh that could deflate a small bouncy castle, picked up the peas. "Yes, Brenda. A fresh pair of eyes. And perhaps a brain that hasn't melted from the sheer, overwhelming brilliance of it all." She scanned the peas. This time, miraculously, they registered.

"See?" Brenda chirped. "Just needed a little nudge!"

"Indeed," Agnes mumbled, already dreaming of a future where robots were sentient enough to understand irony. Or, failing that, at least smart enough to let her buy her peas in peace.