When Oedipus Meets Self-Checkout
There are places where fate is sealed, where choices are illusions, and where even the strongest of wills are no match for forces beyond their control.
The ancient Greeks staged their tragedies in grand amphitheaters, under the watchful eyes of the gods. Today, we stage ours in the Hyperion Superstore.
Consider Oedipus, but not the one of Sophocles' play—the one in Aisle 5, clutching a grocery list like a divine prophecy. He is an ordinary man, unaware that destiny has placed him on a path that cannot be altered. His simple goal? To purchase a carton of milk. But the gods have other plans.
The Supermarket as the New Labyrinth
The first sign that fate is against him: the milk has been moved. The layout of the store, once familiar, has been reshaped by the unseen hand of marketing executives—a modern-day labyrinth, shifting not by divine will, but by consumer psychology studies. He wanders, lost among endless promotions, searching for what was once easily found.
The social commentators (chorus), disguised as store employees in matching uniforms, offers little guidance. “That’s not my department,” they chant in unison, looking past him with vacant eyes.
Just as Oedipus reaches for the last carton, a stranger’s hand meets his. An older woman—perhaps a figure from his past?—locks eyes with him in the cold glow of the dairy section. He hesitates. Something about this moment feels inevitable, but he does not know why.
The Self-Checkout Oracle
When he reaches the self-checkout, he believes his trials are over. But no hero's journey ends so easily. He scans the milk. The machine rejects him.
"Please remove the unexpected item from the bagging area."
A second attempt. Another rejection. His hands tremble. He turns to the manager, a towering figure of bureaucratic authority, who speaks in riddles:
"I cannot override the machine. The machine decides."
Oedipus' fate is now clear. He will never leave the supermarket victorious. He will be sent to the longest line, the one that does not move, where time itself bends under the weight of confused elderly shoppers counting exact change.
The Moral of the Story?
The ancients believed in fate—that no matter what we do, we are bound to a destiny beyond our control. Today, fate wears a different mask.
It is not an oracle but an algorithm, not a prophecy but a store policy, not a cruel god but a malfunctioning self-checkout machine.
Like Oedipus, we wander these places believing we have choices, only to realize that our fate was sealed the moment we walked through the sliding glass doors.
(sorry Prof. Vandiver)