The Checkout Girl. Tazeen Ahmad

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ for more than seventy minutes will almost always start to row. Seventy-one-plus minutes in a supermarket and they’re ready to sign the divorce papers. And when my customers are not squabbling they’re just being odd. Some of them plan where they place their groceries on the conveyor belt with military precision, with the intention of ensuring it will be convenient to unpack when they get home. One man today asks me to wait while he spends ten minutes carefully unloading his shop on to the belt. He groups all like items together. As I ring through the items I can see the layout of his kitchen. First the larder with pasta, tinned tuna, baked beans, biscuits and pickles, then the fridge with cheeses, milk, meat and prepared salad. Next, the kitchen cupboard holding the bleach, washing-up liquid, scouring pads, washing powder, fabric conditioner and kitchen towels. It’s weirdly inspiring.

      I spend much of my shift looking out for Richard, but, as expected, I don’t see him. After clocking off I hunt him down. He’s in the canteen with the usual posse of pit bulls and I ask for a private word. He takes me to a quiet office and we have a quick chat about my progress so far. Richard is one of a rare breed these days; a touchy-feely manager. I know my request for changing my shift is pushing the limits of new Cog protocol, but I have no option. I explain my childcare problem and he reminds me I had accepted the hours offered, but then promises to look into it. Finally he says:

      ‘We will support you anyway we can—put it in writing, suggest your alternatives, be as accommodating as possible, and Personnel and I will look at it and see what we can do.’ His response is heartening; he tells me not to worry and that we will sort something out. He is head and shoulders above all the managers I have had over the years. And I’ll bet my last bit of spare change that he’s the reason so many checkout girls have stuck it out here for so long. He’s considerate, courteous and proof that you don’t have to be bad to be good.

      I go to Rebecca’s till for a quick chat before I leave for the day. The customer Rebecca is serving wants to do a split payment and Rebecca asks me how. Before I can help, the customer jumps in; she’s a former Tesco employee. She tells us she was there four years ago, earning £7.50 an hour at the age of sixteen. Rebecca is outraged and asks, not for the first time, ‘What am I doing here?’

      Before I leave for the day I see a notice in the staff toilet called ‘Talkback’. It reads: ‘There is a popular misconception that Tesco pay more than we do. It’s not true. We also pay for fifteen-minute tea breaks, Tesco don’t.’

       Saturday, 13 December 2008

      Two weeks to go till Christmas. I go in today after the worst bout of flu I’ve suffered in years. I’m shaky, dizzy and can barely breathe. My chest is congested, but I am too much of a coward to call the absentee line again. I called in sick yesterday and it didn’t go down well. The manager at the end of the line interrogated me and left me with the distinct feeling that he didn’t really believe I was ill. So today I go in.

      I see Michelle as soon as I walk through the doors. She tells me that when she had to call in sick she was reminded, in no uncertain terms, that she was still on probation.

      ‘But when you’re sick, you’re sick. You’re only going to contaminate others.’

      ‘And it’s not as if you get paid sick leave here, is it?’ she adds.

      I take my painkillers, put my head down and get on with the job. I can’t think straight so struggle to talk to customers. I opt for cursory greetings, ask about plastic bags and Nectar cards, and send them on their way. Nevertheless, I do end up chatting to another Cog. She tells me she works thirty-nine hours a week at the store plus an extra eleven hours cleaning. ‘I’ve got to pay the bills somehow.’ She’s only just started at Sainsbury’s after finding it impossible to meet her growing monthly expenses.

      That’s not a problem for the numerous ladies who come to my till with their designer bags. Today I count seven luxury-end bags. But designer bag or no designer bag, everyone loves a bargain. One of these upmarket ladies tells me she queued up to shop at Woolworths’ closing-down sale and picked up some knocked-down bed sheets.

      Christmas gift shopping has started at the store and Mamma Mia! is in virtually every woman’s trolley, so I share with them the one nerd fact I’ve picked up recently: it’s the fastest-selling UK DVD of all time. According to Justin King’s latest newsletter, Sainsbury’s alone sold 200,000 copies in its first week.

      He also reminds us of the importance of ensuring availability of stock, delivering great customer service and doing our job well in the build-up to Christmas. He also says the new ads with Ant and Dec and Jamie have gone down a storm.

      Just before the end of my shift, I’m asked to close my till early. I’m taken aside and told that I was being assessed today. My heart skips a few beats, but somehow I get a green despite my minimal customer interaction. Ayesha reminds me that the mystery customer is most likely to come in on a Friday and Saturday so I’ve got to be on the ball. I point the finger at my ill health and add creepily, ‘I really do love talking to customers.’ Ayesha and Susie make sympathetic noises, but they’re not convinced. In a shameless attempt to save my skin I ask them to reassess me soon.

      I hand in my letter for Richard and wonder if this impromptu assessment has anything to do with my request to change my hours. Then I head to Rebecca’s till for a quick end-of-shift gossip session.

      ‘I’ve been waiting for one assessment and you’ve already had two.’

      ‘That’s probably because you’re so kick-arse at this they don’t need to test you.’

      ‘Far from it, it’s the most unnatural thing in the world for me. I just don’t believe that they want to talk to us.’ She looks at the middle-aged man she’s serving and asks me to dare her to ask him what he thinks about our customer service policy.

      ‘Excuse me, sir, can I ask you something? Would you like me to engage with you?’

      ‘Pardon?’ He says looking baffled.

      ‘Would you like me to talk to you, ask you how you are?’

      ‘Well, if you want to, but I’m not that bothered. Why?’

      ‘We’re told to, and I wasn’t sure if customers want that from us.’

      ‘Well, I always find it odd when you lot ask how we are and when we ask you back you get caught off guard. Or when you offer help with packing and we say yes—you look put out. It shows it’s just superficial.’

      ‘But is it nice when we do it? Does it leave a good impression?’

      ‘Sometimes I just want to get out of here as fast as possible. And to be honest, I’m usually in a bit of a coma when I’m shopping. So chat to me, don’t chat to me—I’m not bothered.’

       Wednesday, 17 December 2008

      I miss the place so much this week I go to my local Sainsbury’s on a day off. My shop comes to almost £90. And I react in exactly the same way as my customers: shock, horror, ‘really??’ Followed by frantic bill-checking afterwards. As a result, I resolve to live a little and pop into Morrisons. I buy a packet of frozen peas, frozen vegetables, pizza bases, bread and milk and it comes to just under £7. That is cheaper. I need to stake this place out, hunt down items on my regular shopping list, get to know the store despite СКАЧАТЬ