Things were looking grim. My part-pension and small nest-egg just weren’t covering the ever-increasing cost of the overheads for myself and the five cats. Tears and sleepless nights didn’t help. I needed a job. I had retired from a Nursing Home carer’s role a few years ago. I felt totally lost!
Pension Day and I saw the note stuck to our local supermarket’s window. “Help wanted.”
I only knew her as Anne but she was friendly when I made my approach. “Yep, deary. Maybe. We generally get kids after school filling these jobs, but … er. I’ll let yer know.” I gave her my number, collected a few groceries and tripped off home, my nerves jingling, but with a sense of achievement quietly boosting my ego and mood.
“Have you ever worked these new-fangled tills” Anne asked, when she called me the next day? I stretched things a little, remembering my regular shifts in the school canteen. “I was a check-out chick a few years ago, it has been a while, probably a bit rusty but I am a quick learner,” I replied.
I got the job, and despite a sleepless night, here I was, Day One, the early morning shift, mostly milk, bread, papers and forgotten lunchbox fillers.
The barcode reader did the heavy lifting. Anne kept an eye on me but my confidence grew as the morning progressed. Standing up for hours was going to be an issue – at least toilet breaks got me off my feet!
A lady asked me about the triangle, next to the recycling advice on the bottom of a packet of biscuits. I had to admit I had no idea what it meant! She was a bit huffy but Anne reassured me that “the silly old Biddy asks the same question every time she comes into the shop. Don’t worry about her.” I was getting into the swing, even offering “Got much on for the rest of today” with sincere disinterest!
Lunchtime – my feet were killing me and my lower back felt like a vice had been applied. But I was still going strong and I hadn’t messed up too many items. The vegetables were the trickiest – I had never come across Endive, or Celeriac. Both of those transactions were helped by the customer providing guidance as I flicked through the online menu.
Anne asked me if I could do the afternoon shift. “OK”, I bravely said. Three thirty and the kids started to arrive. Anne warned me to be on the lookout for “… the little smart arses”. I was totally swamped – it was a tsunami of lollies, muesli bars, chips and soft drinks. I suspected one girl had a bag of chips up her jumper. I queried her overly plumped chest – she swore, called me an old cow and ran out of the shop.
That flummoxed me, but again, Anne came across and reassured me. “Yep, we get ‘em. She’ll be back in a week’s time. We’ll be ready for her.”