There should also be a dedicated checkout for those 65 and older.
I remember some supermarkets that had those checkouts, with extra-wide lanes for easier wheelchair use. But I guess they weren't cost effective, and maybe caused too many scuffles among shoppers, because I haven't seen any in a while.
One time I went to a regular check-out line, because the handicapped had no checker, and there was only person in this regular lane. I unloaded my things onto the end of the belt. While I waited a bit of a line formed behind me.
Suddenly there was a commotion from the back of the line, as this loud, shrewish voice demanded, in a New York City accent unmistakable to me: "Let me go ahead of you, I'm old and disabled! I need to move up!" A woman who looked to be no more than 50s, with no cane or apparent mobility problem, was working her way up the line, as people got out of her way. No polite "May I get ahead of you, please? I'm disabled and can't stand in long lines like this."
She finally got directly behind me, just as the checker was almost ready to ring up my items. She was carrying a plastic hand basket, her claimed disabled status not preventing her from doing that, either.
"Get out of my way!" she barked at me. That was enough for me, I wasn't going to give this nasty bitch the satisfaction. "No, I'm next," I calmly replied. "What do you mean NO? Get out of my way! I'm old!" She neglected to mention the handicapped this time, nor had she aged 20 years since I saw her first start this farce at the back of the line.
"If you have some handicap there's a special handicapped lane right over there," I responded, pointing at the lane. "But I'm old! Get out of my way!" she screeched, repeating her mantra. "Madame, I'm as old as you are, and I actually need a cane to walk," I replied, holding up my cane. "I'm the one who can't stand in a line easily."
By now the checker was ready to take me. "Hello, how are you?" I said smiling. "I'm next, correct?" She looked a bit troubled by this situation, but answered: "Yes, sir, you are." "Good, thank you." And she started checking my items.
"No, I'm next!" yelled the woman. "I'm complaining to the manager! I was next!" She continued to rant, more and more hysterically, the whole time my items were being checked. I wondered if she was gonna shove or hit me, but never did. The bagger reloaded my cart, and offered to push it out to my car for me. I usually don't have them do that, but that day I made an exception.
Giving me the opportunity to say to him, loudly enough to be heard by the woman and others in the line: "Yes, thank you. My car's the first one out the right door exit, parked in a handicapped space." Stressing the 'handicapped'. For which of course I had an authorized blue handicapped placard, proving I had a genuine disability.