Bernard O'Shea: From self-checkouts to QR code menus, why is everything in life so damned complicated?

Modern life is doing my head in, please get rid of this pointless technology, pleads Bernard O'Shea

'Self-checkouts are surely placed on this earth to punish us for something we did in a past life.'

I'm in stand-up mode. I’m finishing a show that I have been touring for the last two years and am writing a new hour, called Pick Up, Drop Off (shameless plug).

My brain has entered into a different spectrum. I call it "overfishing". It’s when I cast off my observation net and don’t care what I haul back, because everything weird and wonderful could end up in the show.

I obsess way too much over ideas. Is this too complicated? Will anyone get the references?

With my age, I’ve also become a middle-aged grumpy man, who’s finding the rationale for making what were once such simple manifestations of life into the most complicated, obtuse operations humans have ever conceived.

In simpler terms, here are three things that were caught in my brain-net last week that make me want to scream: “THIS SHOULDN’T BE THIS COMPLICATED”

Self-checkouts

Firstly, anything with ‘self’ in the title should be a warning for everyone. One of the biggest offenders is ‘self-catering’. It sounds lovely when you book a ‘self-catering’ holiday, but inevitably you end up eating out, because you realise you have just moved your family to a different place and the housework has followed you.

The whole family is then stressed out the night before checking out, because they have to clean. This is where I check out.

Last year, I turned to my wife and told her: “I’m not going anywhere on my holidays where I have to put a duvet into the duvet cover ever again.”

But as for self-checkouts, they surely are placed on this Earth to punish us for something we did in a past life.

With all the talk about how AI is going to take over the world, before it does could it make all these cortisol-inducing machines know when I put a bag down? “Did you bring your own bag?” “Yes, machine, I did.” “There’s something in the packing area?” “Yeah, that would be my f**king bag.”

And then there’s the wait, while you stand there like a tool, for an overworked assistant to come over and apologise for the shop’s crap technology. Then, they proceed by stabbing a magical number into the screen with a white plastic keycard.

Please, retail industry, if you’re reading this, we’ll all be dead in 50 years: Get rid of them.

QR code menus

Christ on a bike. If there were ever anything that was the most basic, simplest, cheapest, and most effective item a restaurant could ever have, it is a menu. It calms you down and lets you know that the place where you have rested your arse has food. 

There it is, right in front of your face, written in words using the alphabet on a sheet of paper inside a piece of plastic placed into your hands.

It’s really, really, really, really good at conveying information about what the chef has made, the ingredients, and even the price. 

However, that has just become too cumbersome and too outmoded for some establishments. They would prefer you to take out your phone, scan a filthy piece of plastic, and be sent to a broken link. Then, you have to tell the wait staff it isn’t working.

They then hand you a grubby piece of paper printed off rapidly in the office upstairs. It looks remarkably like a… menu.

Please, restaurant industry, if you’re reading this, we’ll all be dead in 50 years: Get rid of them.

Smart appliances

When did every household appliance decide it wanted a personality?

When I buy a washing machine, I’m not looking for another relationship. I’m not looking for that missing person in my life who wants to learn about all my quirks and traits.

Yet, somehow, before I can wash a pair of socks, I have to download an app, create an account, verify my email, connect it to the wifi, and agree to the terms and conditions.

When I married an actual person, she only asked that I stop putting wet towels on the bed. Now I’m signing a UN charter agreement so I can promise I’ll only use a certain brand of softener.

Who looked at a toaster one day and thought: ‘You know what this needs? Firmware updates’?

I don’t need my tumble dryer sending me notifications. I know the clothes are dry because I’ll open the door and have a look. My fridge doesn’t need artificial intelligence. It needs to keep the milk cold and prevent the lettuce from freezing.

I didn’t ask the electrical shop: "Do you have a fridge that will tell me how bad I am at putting things into it?"

I wouldn’t be surprised if, in a year, we need a new iron, and it will ask me: “So are you planning on leaving the water in me after you’re finished using me? Because if you are, you can move on.”

Please, appliance industry, if you’re reading this, we’ll all be dead in 50 years: Just let my kettle boil water in peace.