It was Nietzsche, or one of the guys from “The Big Bang Theory” (I always get them confused), who suggested 90 percent of human interaction is unnecessary. I’m pretty sure I don’t agree with him, but every time I have to stand in line at a grocery store or restaurant, I can kind of see where he’s coming from.

You see, I’m a self-serve kind of guy. Give me the short line, the bag-my-own option, the chance to load all the almonds I can carry on my yogurt. While doit-yourself usually means screw-it-up-all-on-your-own to me, when it comes to most fi nancial shopping/ food transactions, I’m a selfmade man.

It’s not that I don’t like people. It’s just I’ve found most of the things I don’t like to do, such as “grab something on the way home” or try to stuff something down during the middle of the day before moving on to a meeting, involves people and cash registers. Even I can spot a trend.

Let’s be clear: Again, it’s not that I don’t like people.

I love people. I consort with people on a regular basis - daily, in fact. While I’m not really sure what “consort” involves, I think it’s by and large positive. Infact, I am a people. If more people were for people … wait, sorry, I had an unpleasant experience with an “Up With People” show one time, and every now and then I have fl ashbacks.

Again, I digress.

I also do not think, as some people have claimed, self-checkout provides me with a sense of control and personal accomplishment. I mean, really. You’ve entered a 100,000-square-foot store that has just about everything you would want, up to and, potentially in the future, including minor surgery. It’s not like you swam the mighty river and cut your way through the deep, dark forest to bring those hot dogs and the dishwasher detergent home to your grateful family. They probably don’t really like hot dogs. And you should have gotten the detergent that smells like lemons.

No, I like self-checkout because it strips the retail experience down to itsbasic element. I want stuff .

I want to give you money for stuff. When that’s done, I’m outta here. No polite conversation. No “How was your day?” No “Did you find everything you wanted?” If I’m standing in line with a toilet plunger, a fire extinguisher and a first-aid kit, you can infer things aren’t too rosy. If I were to get everything I wanted, I’d need to know what aisle world peace, an end to tyranny and a decent Razorback defense are on.

Also, they let you use hand scanners in selfcheckout, which I’m sure, under the right circumstances, can be made into ray guns. Who wouldn’t want to get to use a ray gun?

It’s a far greater challenge for me when it comes to dining on the go. I think there ought to be two buttons at every fast-food drive-through. Button No.

1 is the “actually fast fastfood button.” Pushing it means “I am confi dent of my food choices and don’t really need your help or suggestions. I don’t want to speak to the hamburger sommelier. I don’t think your neon-lit menu requires a rune stone to understand.

I’m comfortable with both the preparation method and size of my potato selection, and, no, I don’t want asoft drink so big it takes a dolly to get it to my car, largely because I’m in my 50s and I’m not interested in spending the better part of the afternoon in the bathroom. I’ll have a No. 3, and unless that’s somehow different than it’s been for the last 10 years, we’re good to go here. And the Catsup Caddy can move on, too.”

Button No. 2 means, “I’m malleable, easily persuaded and have about 30 minutes to kill while you go through your entire upselling spiel. Go ahead: Off er me a seasonally appropriate Pumpkin Spice Belle Grande Mondo Chicken Fried Popper Deluxe Breakfast Salted Caramel ChaluppaMooGooAsade Extravaganza. On fl atbread.

I have no idea what it is, and I’m sure I’m allergic to at least three of the ingredients, but it really sounds just wonderful.

Particularly when you say it really fast with no infl ection in your voice. And, of course, even though I have no idea how big it actually is and wouldn’t be surprised if it were at least as large as my head, I want to supersize it.”

And maybe they can have a third button. That involves a ray gun.

GARY SMITH IS A RECOVERING JOURNALIST LIVING IN ROGERS.

Opinion, Pages 5 on 11/08/2012