by Tazeen Ahmad
Saturday, 2 May 2009
Adam’s in the canteen, swearing at his paperwork. I nip over for a quick chat while devouring my lunch at breakneck speed. He was after the job going in the pharmacy, but the hours didn’t add up. So for now he splits his time between the newspapers and the car park trolleys. He’s at the end of his tether with customers. ‘I mean, seriously, did you pick up Twinky magazine from over there? No? I didn’t think so. So why put it there? Why, I ask you?’ he grumbles. ‘I’m sure I do it too, but why do they insist on picking up the fourth newspaper from the top? Today I actually said to a customer: “You know the one at the top, the one at the bottom, they’re all the same.”’
In the canteen Justin King’s newsletters are piled high on a table. The only thing that grabs my attention is the delay of the new uniforms. They won’t be introduced until next year now—I wonder if they’ll forgo the polyester.
The Talkback 2008 results are on the wall with feedback from staff. The results look good for management—with more than three-quarters of staff claiming to be happy working at the supermarket, believing the pay is good compared to other places and intending to be here beyond a year. A Cog I’ve recently befriended walks down with me. ‘I can’t remember filling out the questionnaire, you know.’
‘Maybe they made it up,’ I say, naughtily.
‘They were a bit high, weren’t they?’ We giggle.
It’s a gorgeous day and according to meteorologists we’re headed for our hottest summer in years—fitting, I think, just as we are going into financial meltdown. Customers are rolling in with summer purchases: sun loungers, summery clothes, sun cream, ice cream, Halloumi cheese, BBQ equipment and lots and lots of booze. A man who works in IT tells me there were big redundancies in his company just before Christmas.
‘There are still more ahead. But it looks like you are doing all right in here.’
‘We are. And because of the sunshine, people are queuing up for all the summer stuff too.’
He scans the store. ‘You wouldn’t think there was a recession on by the looks of things in here. And actually, now I come to think of it…I went to the Lakes last week and it was really busy. Busier than ever, in fact. Although that could be because people are staying here rather than going abroad.’
Yesterday it was compost, today people are buying seeds for their garden—carrots, onions, radishes, beans and tomatoes. Brits are now turning to burying their hands in the soil in order to save some cash. During my break, Danielle and I sit together and she shares her customer service tales, all of which inevitably end with customers threatening to take their trade to Tesco. ‘And I’m thinking—do you really think I care?’ she says scornfully.
When I get back a couple with a toddler spend £42.91. Dad pays a visit to the toilet and is appalled by the amount he has to hand over when he returns. ‘We only came in for a magazine for her and bottle of whisky for me…how did that happen?’ He starts digging around in his wallet. ‘It’s basically a quid an item and ten pounds a bag isn’t it?’
‘Well, it’s probably those gourmet burgers that did it,’ says his wife.
‘But I fancied something special. It IS expensive, but it’s cheaper than eating out,’ he says as he hands over his credit card.
A woman has spent £95.39 on a lot of cakes and an awful lot of biscuits. ‘The most frustrating bit of spending so much on my food is the fact that it doesn’t last long and there is nothing to show for it. Well, except for the extra inches around your middle.’
Adam walks by at a moment when I’m daydreaming and tuned into the satisfying ping of my scanner. He draws a grin on his face with his fingers to tell me to smile. Ayesha tells a Cog to push her hair off her face. Samantha tells another Cog to quieten down. It’s like convent school in here. Next someone will be telling me to pull my socks up.
The cleaner I served two months ago is back.
‘How are things with you?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I’m still very busy—more than ever, actually. I’m getting a lot of work.’
‘But aren’t people cutting back on cleaners to save money?’
‘Not my clients. They’re all really rich so they can easily afford their cleaners. I’m turning down work at the moment, to be honest.’
I don’t close my till today and wait for a prompt from Ayesha. She closes my till four minutes early.
Friday, 8 May 2009
It’s my final day and I’m determined to savour every single moment. Down at the tills, Hayley gives me a big hello and says brightly, ‘Last day, girl.’ And she gives me the keys to a basket till.
I arrive at my checkout and sit down on the notorious sinking chair. ‘No, no, no!’ I yelp, jumping off and laughing—much to the irritation of the waiting customer. Today she can wait.
Tracey is on baskets shelling out good will, smiles and her Saturday Special: first-class customer service. And so is a Cog who I’ve never sat with before—Yanis. She tells me she has been here almost fourteen years.
‘I bet customers have changed a lot in that time,’ I remark.
‘Oh yes. They’ve always been rude, but they’ve now started to get more aggressive.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, before they’d just be brash and abrupt. But now they shout and physically throw their weight about. They grab things, they get in your face.’ I ask her about the mystery customer.
‘That started about four years ago. And now we’re just obsessed with it.’
Tracey tells us there is a new MCM report to read. ‘We failed on checkouts apparently,’ she says.
‘I don’t care,’ says Yanis defiantly.
‘I know you don’t care, because it’s not you, is it? Nor me. It’s the others—them slackers,’ Tracey says, pointing at all the other Cogs. We all laugh. I have a quick look at the report—the person on checkouts did everything right but was too busy talking to the Cog standing by the side of the till to engage with the customer. From where I’m sitting today I have a direct view of all my colleagues at the tills. Katherine is busy serving and smiling at shoppers. Connor is staring into mid-air totally oblivious to his customer, and Sonia is sharing another one of her horror stories. There are brand-new signs dangling from the ceiling the full length of the store carrying a number of different messages: Celebrating 140 years of great products at fair prices. £42 million raised for comic relief since 1999. All our fresh sausages are made from British meat.
A Cog who works on clothing comes to my till and, as we’re chatting, asks why I no longer work at the store pharmacy.
‘Pharmacy? I’ve never worked at the pharmacy,’ I tell her, bewildered.
‘Why do I think that, then?’
‘Was there someone there who looked like me?’
‘No. I thought it was you. I always thought that.’
‘I’ve always been on checkouts.’
‘Funny—I was really sure you did. I don’t know why I thought you were pharmacy. Strange that.’
It’s my doctorly face playing mind games again.
Lesley comes to my till and the customer in front of her has just put apples down on my till. He doesn’t know what kind they are and neither do I. ‘Come on, Lesley, prove your worth.’
‘They’re Gala. Don’t you eat apples, girl?’
‘I do—just not the one million varieties that we sell.’
‘I recognise each one by sight, don’t even need the barcode,’ she tells us proudly.
Yanis and I get customer after customer today pushing trolleys but wanting to be served at the baskets. I bow to Yanis’ superior knowledge and take her lead. She serves them so I do too. Even the couple with three multi-packs of Coca Cola bottles, large bottles of oil and several crates of beer. And that’s despite the grunts from the crowd behind.
Today is just another day in the soap opera life of a checkout girl.
1. I serve some customers not having a good day and telling me as much. One is ill and should be in bed—anot
her is caught off guard and says ‘I’m not good at all,’ with a slightly sad look in her eyes.
2. Couples argue at the till. One man storms off. Wife is left to pack shame-faced.
3. I sell thirty-eight hair-dye kits. One customer says she’s swapped home dye for a session with her hairdresser: ‘What’s £6.74 compared to £60?’
4. Bag shame continues. Although one man is cheeky enough to say, ‘Yes, I do have my own bag. This bag is now mine,’ picking up the one at the till.
5. People leave their wallets at home and squirm. Happens twice today. They leave with their heads hung low.
6. I struggle with another pregnancy kit. Nelly opens it for me, but not before drawing the attention of everyone in the queue. ‘Reckon you might be pregnant, then?’ she asks outright. Her indiscretion is my gain. The customer tells us she has an eighteen-year-old and a nine-year-old and this is her last chance to conceive. I wonder why she only tries once every nine years.
7. Mums, mums-to-be and acting mums want my advice. A young aunt looking after her baby nephew is buying baby milk and butternut squash. It transpires that she doesn’t really know what to do with it.
8. Customers try to hide their pin. One does it so his friend feels compelled to say: ‘Even you can’t see what you’re typing, mate.’ I jump in with: ‘Don’t worry, I couldn’t commit fraud if I wanted to.’ ‘Oh, it’s not you—I don’t want him to see it.’ ‘Thanks, mate,’ says his friend.
9. People bring baskets over with just one item in. This happened three times today. One pack of sanitary towels. One Bounty bar. And (of course) one Lynx deodorant.
I take two last shots at playing Numerology for Idiots.
First up, £19.65.
‘The year that Malcolm X died.’
‘Oh was it?’
‘Yes, I think so—I thought Martin Luther King for a second, but he died later didn’t he?’
‘Hmm, late sixties I think.’
‘Was it a good year for you?’
‘It certainly was. The year I got married.’
He’s retired and has been enjoying the sunshine by playing golf.
‘Are you worried about the recession?’
‘Not a bit.’
‘But for your kids?’
‘Oh yes—I’ve been bailing them out with deposits, mortgages and rent—it’s not good for them. But I guess that’s what dads are for.’
Shame everyone doesn’t have a dad like him.
And then: £10.01.
‘Like One Thousand and One Arabian Nights,’ I say to the chap before me.
‘That was quite a sexy book, wasn’t it?’ He responds a little too quickly. Not quite how I was hoping this would go down.
‘Um…well…it’s kind of a kids’ book—but yes there was the whole nervous tension between the king and Scheherazade.’
‘Arabian princesses—they’re well up for it, I bet,’ he says, giving me a rather creepy grin.
‘Uh-huh, you reckon?’ I try to say distractedly.
‘All that sitting around in harems, wearing those silky face scarves—definitely…’ I think he actually starts to visualise this now.
‘Your name looks Arabic—where are you from then?’ And it’s time to send him on his way.
Hayley tells me my break is next, straight after Yanis. Half an hour later, Yanis is still sitting at the till. It becomes evident that Hayley forgot to tell her to go. I tell her, but Yanis likes to toe the line.
‘Unless I hear it from Hayley, I ain’t going. Otherwise they’ll say I just went off.’
‘Well, you can just tell them it was me—she definitely told me that you should go.’
Yanis waits an extra thirty minutes even though she is desperate for a break. Another supervisor eventually sanctions her break. During my own break, I spot a new plasma screen hanging in the canteen carrying messages: ‘Let’s celebrate our 140th birthday.’ It gives the dates, talks about cakes, dressing up in Victorian style to celebrate and bangs on about the MCM again.
‘Please continue to smile and greet all customers and show them to the product and finally end with a goodbye and a smile. Continue this and we will get our bonus.’ Nobody is paying any attention to this but me. I also spot a notice hanging next to it that dates from June last year saying that by April 2009 Sainsbury’s expect to have cut bag usage by 50 per cent. If my experience at the till is anything to go by they are far from meeting this target.
When I return I serve two chaps wearing BMW T-shirts.
‘How’s it going down there?’
‘Good, thanks.’
‘Don’t lie,’ says the other suddenly. ‘It’s crap.’
‘OK, scrap that. It’s not looking good at all.’
‘No one knows how long we’ve got a job for.’
I talk to a man who works in insurance and he tells me things have never been busier. ‘People are making claims galore—usually employment-, or lack of it, related, of course.’ He smiles like a man in insurance would.
A customer tells me she’s making her speciality tonight for her friends:
Two large butternut squash, prawns, fine green beans, chilli, coconut milk and a small jar of Thai spices. Stir fry, pour in the coconut milk. Simmer until cooked.
A large Russian customer with his English wife walks to the checkout. Both Yanis and I are free. And he roars in a loud Russian way:
‘WHO LIKES TO WORK?’
Yanis says, ‘Both of us.’
And I say, ‘Neither of us.’ At the same time. He puts his basket down on my till with a ‘WELL, THERE YOU ARE THEN, WOMAN.’ I don’t pick up my forfeit because the woman behind him has already placed her basket at my till. Poor Yanis has to listen to him bellow instead.
Sarita arrives at the end of her shift and flashes her blinking ring finger at Yanis.
‘Wow, that’s gorgeous, when did that happen?’ asks Yanis, holding Sarita’s hand and staring at the flashing diamond solitaire.
‘Last weekend,’ says Sarita, showing off her ring proudly.
I do some quick maths—she’s only been with the new boyfriend since after I started working here—a matter of months. I wonder how this will go down with the ex and his mum. Sarita has no such concerns on her mind.
‘We’re getting married in India so that we can have a big, traditional Asian wedding,’ she says happily, and for the first time since I met her, she smiles brightly.
One of my last customers is a PE teacher. He has a deep tan and when I ask him about it he tells me it’s because he spends most of his time outdoors. Nelly is with me and standing at her till, she turns to inspect him from head to toe. He looks slightly uneasy. ‘So what do you do then?’ she asks.
‘I’m a PE teacher,’ he repeats.
‘Ooh, physical, then?’ Nelly is close to fifty, and this man is unfortunately half her age.
I smother a giggle and he looks distinctly uncomfortable. She takes a good look at his shorts—he is, by now, actually squirming. As he scarpers out the store she watches him (and his butt):
‘Should have known he was a PE teacher. Look at them legs in them shorts…nice.’
Betty comes over and stops at my till for…a…chat.
‘I was thinking about you today and wondering why I hadn’t seen you. Have you been in all day?’
‘Yes,’ I say, trying to keep myself together. ‘I think it’s because you started halfway through my shift and I’ve been down at this end most of the day.’
‘Hmm, that’s strange. I’d been wondering why I hadn’t seen you for a while. Anyway, just close your till when you finish, OK?’
My last customer is my 230th of the day.
‘Congratulations you are my last customer in this job. Ever.’
‘Oh wow. I feel so honoured,’ says the pretty blonde twenty-something.
‘Tell me something about yourself that I will always remember—no pressure.’
‘Oh well, that’s easy enough—I’m absolutely shaking with nerves be
cause I’m going on a date tonight with a guy I met several weeks ago who I thought I’d never see again. He’s coming down from Newcastle and just phoned me a couple of hours ago. And I really like him! We spent all night talking the first time we met and he’s probably Mr Right, but I thought nothing would ever come of it…and then out of the blue he phoned!’
‘How very Before Sunrise,’ I say, grinning broadly. She gets the reference and laughs.
‘I know! I really want to knock him out, but nothing is open now so I nipped in here to buy this top for tonight. What do you think?’ She holds up the delicate white blouse with a £15 price-tag. It’ll look really pretty against her tanned skin, green eyes and blonde hair. I tell her this and she beams. Behind her are a mass of customers. ‘I’m sorry, but I really have to close,’ I say, not once, not twice but eight times. Everyone grunts. Everyone rolls their eyes.
‘You must get so fed up, having to tell people that over and over again.’
‘I used to. But today, I just don’t care,’ I say, grinning widely. I close my till for the last time. I do my last cash-up. I log off, send the pod up to the office and take my key towards the till captains. Betty, Ayesha, Louisa, and the Cogs starting the next shift are gathered together, huddled over the schedules. Betty is allocating tills, Louisa is handing out keys, customers are rushing to the tills. They’ve all got their backs to me. I hand over my till keys to Ayesha and she takes them distractedly. I say goodbye. Nobody hears me.
As I leave the store I see Molly, Katherine and Nelly all with baskets in their hands grabbing some last-minute shopping. We need milk at home, I suddenly remember. I head to the shelf and pick up a bottle. And then I stop. No, today I won’t shop at all. I leave it on the meat shelf for a Cog to put away. And then I see Danielle at customer service and we give each other a big smile and a wave. The last person I say goodbye to is also the first person I met here. As I walk out the big double doors I turn one last time to look at the checkouts. At the basket tills there is already another Cog sitting in my chair.
Epilogue
