The Empire Swipes Back

So, over here in the UK most credit cards don't have a black magnetic strip like in the states. Instead, they have a little microchip at their tip. Brits insert the card into a special slot which reads the chip, but which is incapable of reading an American-style card (referred to in this part of the world as a "swipe").

This means that I, with my lowly american black stripped card, have to inform the cashier of my backwards and barbaric ways. I have to make a tense, apologetic smile, hold my card between the very tips of my fingers as I wave it in the air, and meekly mumble, "I have a swipe."

Usually these magic words elicit a look of annoyance from the cashier and perhaps a few people in line behind me. This is because reading a swipe card requires a different piece of machinery (which has no doubt been gathering dust on the checkout counter). While this only takes about 15 seconds longer than using a proper card, I guess it's enough to prompt the bitter looks.

Once, instead of a bitter look, I got this refreshingly direct response:

Cashier: Your total is £10.95
Me: I have a swipe. 
Cashier: ...why?

In any case, it's a fifty-fifty shot of whether the customer can do the swiping themselves or if the cashier needs to do it. 

Now, I really don't mind asking "Do I swipe it or do you?" but at least five times the cashier has replied, "You can do it," then immediately took the card away from me and did it himself. Maybe "you can do it" means something different here...maybe it means, "you can't do it."

The final step of the process is the customer has to sign a copy of the receipt.  Pretty standard, right? Except over here they pour a lot of energy into comparing the signature on the receipt to the signature on the back of your card (in the US, I never even had a signature on the back of my card). 

One of my first nights here I made the mistake of squiggling a quickie signature at a Subway. The cashier actually threw his head back in shock when he compared it to the one on my card and said, "No...no, these don't look the same." Thankfully, he mustered up the mercy to let me buy my £3 sandwich without going through a DNA test.

Just about an hour ago I was buying groceries and the time came to sign the receipt. Only this time, the ink in the pen was low.

Me: Oh, this one is low on ink. It's hard to write with.

Cashier: That's ok, just sign it.

Me: Ok. I signed it.

Cashier: ...why did you sign it different than on your card?

Me: ...because the ink is low. It's hard to write with.

At this point the cashier produced a new pen and handed it to me. She told me to sign it again, and watched my every move like a hawk. Apparently, I was now a person of interest.

So here I was, signing my own name, buying groceries (the least steal-someone's-card-and-buy-things-with-it thing I can imagine), nervous that my signature will not be up to this woman's expectations of what my signature should look like.

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world.