Last week, my back hurt so badly that standing felt like a full-time job. Yet there I was at the grocery store, caught in the ultimate irony: paying for groceries while being asked to work for free.

On one side, two open checkout lanes — neither an express — were clogged with lines rivaling a rush-hour construction zone on I-95. On the other side, self-checkout stations had customers shuffling forward like zombies, waiting for the privilege of scanning and bagging their own groceries. With only five items, I choose a line with a cashier, and endured a long, agonizing wait while reflecting on how “convenience” and “technical progress” have turned shopping into an endurance challenge fit for an episode of “Survivor.”

I avoid self-checkout on principle. If stores refuse to pay me or offer me a discount, why should I do someone else’s job for free? I don’t object to working but by scanning and bagging my own groceries, I’m sending the message that it’s OK for the store to cut jobs and shift the burden onto customers.

Self-checkout was supposed to be a convenience. Instead, it’s corporate America’s way of handing us unpaid internships — and I refuse to enroll. When did we agree to moonlight as cashiers just so the store can save a few bucks? If I’m doing the work, shouldn’t I at least get a coupon — or a chair?

I’m fairly certain the older woman standing behind me the other day could have used a chair. If we’re stuck in this system, let’s make it more comfortable. Forget benches — why not reclining chairs like those in first-class flights, complete with massage units? At this point, I’d gladly prop my feet up while waiting for the family of four ahead of me to have their cartload scanned.

Or better yet, install conveyor belts that move shoppers through the lines like baggage at the airport. A slow-moving sidewalk with a hydration station halfway would do wonders for morale. Call it the Lazy Susan of grocery shopping, except this time we shoppers are the ones spinning around.

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And what about benefits? If we’re working for free, let’s negotiate some perks. Veterans could have priority lanes as gratitude for their service. Seniors might welcome early-bird discounts for braving the lines before 4 p.m. Anyone over 50 or those with injuries should automatically qualify for a “body-ache express lane.”

And let’s not forget parents with young children. After witnessing a mother power through a toddler’s tantrum to finish her shopping and impart a life lesson, it’s clear that parents with infants or toddlers deserve a “fast pass” — like the ones Disney used to offer. Actually, they might need a line all to themselves.

While people wait in line to check out, there’s one line that rarely has a wait these days: the recycling line. Once a simple and straightforward task, recycling has also become part of the unpaid labor epidemic. For years, I could return plastic and glass bottles at my local Hannaford and get a refund instantly, with someone always nearby to help if needed.

Then came Hannaford’s “Clynk” program, which I initially refused to join. I didn’t like the idea of buying plastic bags just to recycle plastic. But recently, I gave in, picked up my first ten free bags, and gave it a try. A few months later, I dropped off my first bag. The process required scanning a sticker and sending the bag down a chute.

Under the old system, I’d get a receipt instantly, ready to use during my shopping trip. This time, I had to wait a day or two for the bag to be processed and the $4 refund to appear in my online account. When I tried to use it at checkout, I discovered I needed to leave the line and print a receipt in the lobby.

I still haven’t figured out how to print the receipt. If this is progress, I’ll take the old days, when I could hand someone my bottles and walk away with a receipt on the spot.

Somewhere along the way, technology stopped making life easier and started outsourcing the work back to us. Grocery and big-box stores no longer seem interested in serving customers — they’re too busy forcing us to serve ourselves. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if they introduced tiered memberships: Bronze members wait in line. Silver gets benches. Gold? A personal cashier, a glass of wine, and someone to load your car.

Until then, I’ll just keep standing in line, daydreaming about unionizing the unpaid workforce of grocery shoppers everywhere. Or perhaps a kazoo player will come and serenade me while I decide which line will ruin my day less. Either way, I’ll be submitting my résumé soon.

If I’m going to keep doing these jobs, I’d like to negotiate my hourly rate.

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