I set out to run a series of quick errands at the shopping center five minutes from my home. Though it was Saturday morning, I figured it would take no time at all. Ninety minutes later, older, sadder and wiser, I limped home to lick my wounds.

First stop was the bank to make two deposits, one for my wife and one for my daughter. Lesson one. No good deed goes unpunished. The line at the drive-through window was daunting, so I gambled that going inside might actually be faster. I was greeted by a chipper man welcoming me to Wells Fargo.

This I took to be a feeble attempt to repair the image of a bank just fined $1 billion for cheating their customers on home and auto loans. After waiting with a half dozen other supplicants for the attention of three tellers, I arrived and said I wanted to deposit two checks in two different accounts.

For some reason it was necessary for the teller to get the assistance of a manager. The glad-hander at the door being the only one in sight, it took some time to gain his attention. Eventually he responded, unlocked the door to enter the tellers’ inner sanctum, looked over the transaction and showed the teller which button to push. It wasn’t clear whether the delay was due to human or mechanical malfunction, but I did note this delay represented a Wells Fargo innovation. Usually, money you try to deposit disappears instantly — Poof! — like an elephant in a David Copperfield illusion. Trying to get it back out is the time-consuming part.

I presented my second check and the account for which it was destine. By then Mr. Big was back at the door welcoming marks, but once again his approval for the deposit was required, So the same charade was repeated. If Wells had been half as scrupulous with their lending as with their accepting of deposits, they could have saved themselves a billion dollar fine. Of course, it will undoubtedly be passed on to their customers in the form of higher fees, hidden charges or reduced interest.

Next stop on the gantlet was the grocery and its pharmacy to pick up a prescription and a head of lettuce. The prescription went swimmingly, but trying to buy a two dollar item at a self-service scanner entailed a side trip to the second ring of hell.

The machine seemed reluctant to recognize the bar code on my frequent buyer card and that of the head of Bibb lettuce in a plastic clamshell. Turns out I was required to enter the quantity I was buying, despite the fact that the lettuce heads were individually packaged and priced at $2 per container, not per pound.

Then I unthinkingly tossed the separately bought and paid for bag containing the prescription medicine in the grocery bag with the lettuce, the better to have my hands free to scan my credit card. Bells and sirens were set off and a female robot voice accused me of putting an unscanned item in the bag. Luckily, a human came to undo this error before a Robocop could arrive to tazze me.

Finally, having failed to learn my lesson that hell is not just other people, as Sartre claimed, but the devices they invent, I went to buy a dozen bagels at the bagel shop. But to do so, I had to join another lengthy queue backed up because the customers outnumbered the bagelers by a five-to-one margin.

One of the employees had apparently not slept for a week. He yawned frequently and enormously and moved at the pace of a drugged tortoise. The other was anxious to chat with customers at some length about his study abroad program. If he’s studied something utilitarian, I felt sure he would not be earning his daily bread slathering cream cheese on tori of dough.

Forward inched the line as people ordered a single bagel, each with a different elaborate series of toppings for Sleepy and Chatty to assemble. Finally, just one person from the goal line, the customer separating me from victory whipped out a list of bagel orders – each unique – and enough of them to have catered a family reunion or fed a rugby squad.

I was tempted to interrupt to ask if they couldn’t organize the store to allow those without a need for a single custom-made bagel with, say, capers, cream cheese, onion, salmon, spinach, zaatar and maraschino cherries, to just grab a bag of bagels and leave. I also considered suggesting they make the slogan of the store, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” Or imploring them to take pity on an elderly gentleman without that much time left and anxious not to spend the last few grains of sand in the hourglass in a line for bagels.

Instead, I dragged myself inch by inch another quarter of an hour closer to the grave while listening to the life stories of Chatty and the woman with the list as well as to an attempt to upsell her on their latest cream cheese flavor – sriracha anchovy. Moral of the story: If you have a home, stay in it. If you must purchase things, Amazon delivers. And rather than bank, use the mattress for the purpose intended by a merciful God.