Oh, OP, thank you for giving me a huge laugh this morning with "favourite cutlery". 😊I know that wasn't the intention, so I'm sorry, as well, just a little bit 😂 because you are so cross.
I'm picturing your (former) friends saying polite goodnights while trying to negotiate your front steps with the weight of your "favourite cutlery" in a granny shopping trolley. Two more of your guests are bent double, staggering all over the place, carrying out your (favourite) 18th century century sideboard on their backs, turtle-fashion. You look around: there are bare patches on the walls, and people you thought of as friends are legging it down the drive with your paintings! You've had to notify the police and the insurance people, and cross the entire Cholmondeley-Warner clan off the guest list, for ever. That's the carol concert down a couple of trebles, and the Beetle Drive is fucked. And now one of those thieving, double-barrelled bastards has fallen into your haha, and will probably put in an insurance claim against you.
Favourite cutlery 😂
Back to your original question, OP...
If anyone working in a supermarket has to check my bags, my handbag included, as part of their job, why would I care in the slightest? It's nothing. Or/and it's an opportunity for a good-natured human connection. It happens at museums and galleries too, all the time.
However, it's easy to be insouciant about things like bag checks, or being trailed around a shop by a security guard, when you have a privilege you don't even realise you have.
A security guard followed me around a large store recently. I was looking for a friend, and must have appeared suspicious (clueless, more like). All highly amusing, to me. Ha ha, such larks. But would it be amusing to @caramelsauce and her partner? It's not for me to answer: she's told you herself.