working for this company. I won’t feel the same about the customers I meet today. Do I have regrets? I wouldn’t go that far …
11 a.m.: Clocking-in time. No chair … as usual. But this time I get one in less than five minutes (better late than never!). And immediately I hear, ‘Are you open?’
‘…’
And for the first time I don’t answer (I don’t care!). The customers (my last three hundred!) parade past, one after the other. Amongst them are some of my favourites: the customer on the phone, Mr Smith with his holey sock and his smelly foot, the Bargain Hunters, the customer with his embarrassing loo roll, the ‘Where are the toilets’ customer. Some very nice ones too – no, not the customer on the phone who remembers to say hello – but ones who have read my articles on the website, who wish me luck and promise to treat checkout girls like human beings from now on. Hurrah! That’s a great leaving present (so I haven’t wasted my time).
8.45 p.m.: Announcement that the store is about to close. Already? The day has gone really quickly. It’s all the emotion, I expect.
8.55 p.m.: My last customer.
‘Don’t you have any bags?’
It’s always nice to end with a classic.
I glance at the aisles to check that the Closing Time couple aren’t nearby. No – what a shame! I would have treated them like kings this time. Never again would they have come to do their shopping at 8.55 p.m.!
The day is over. I clean my conveyor belt with particular care (‘I’m going to miss you, you know. Thanks for helping me so much’) and the rest of my till. It is all so automatic that you almost forget why you’re doing it. This evening though, I know that it’s for the colleague who will take my place tomorrow. I wonder who will replace me on this till? You don’t normally think about that. Why should you?
Last check. Last look from this side of the till. Everything is in order, nothing is lying around. With my cash box under my arm I walk down the line of tills one final time to the Office. The white tiles seem to continue endlessly in front of me. My feet are taking the same paththat they have followed almost every day for the last few years though. It is difficult to tell myself that the next time I come here I will just be a customer. I slow down. I want to keep a bit of my soul here.
The security shutters come down. The blinding white fluorescent lights are turned off and we are left in the shadows. My footsteps resonate in the great empty store. A solitary beeeep! can still be heard like a goodbye from the tills I used all these years. But it’s time to go to the Office and cash up for the last time.
The amount is correct! It’s strange to think it’s the last time I’ll handle all those coins and notes. The money is returned to my cash box and I close it for the final time. It is given to my colleagues in the Office. The label with my number will soon be taken off the metal box and given to the person who will replace me.
Who will then become just a faceless number.
Checkout girls are often only temporary. They are employees who come and go and one looks much like the other … or do they?
A little glass of champagne? Orange juice? Some goodbye crisps at least? Dream on. You were a checkout girl, remember, not a lawyer! My colleagues hug me. It’s a good thing they’re there.
I clock out one last time (well, I hope so!). 9.15 p.m. Right on time. Ah, that capricious machine which made me enter my card over and over again. This time I win! Someone else will be using this card tomorrow.
Employees come and go and one looks much like the other … or do they?
I think that the tills will haunt me for a long time. The lights, the background noise, the familiar faces of all the customers I met over the years, all the colleagues I worked with. All that is over for me today. Eight years behind the till (amazing!). I leave with a big (recyclable) shopping bag full of
11 a.m.: Clocking-in time. No chair … as usual. But this time I get one in less than five minutes (better late than never!). And immediately I hear, ‘Are you open?’
‘…’
And for the first time I don’t answer (I don’t care!). The customers (my last three hundred!) parade past, one after the other. Amongst them are some of my favourites: the customer on the phone, Mr Smith with his holey sock and his smelly foot, the Bargain Hunters, the customer with his embarrassing loo roll, the ‘Where are the toilets’ customer. Some very nice ones too – no, not the customer on the phone who remembers to say hello – but ones who have read my articles on the website, who wish me luck and promise to treat checkout girls like human beings from now on. Hurrah! That’s a great leaving present (so I haven’t wasted my time).
8.45 p.m.: Announcement that the store is about to close. Already? The day has gone really quickly. It’s all the emotion, I expect.
8.55 p.m.: My last customer.
‘Don’t you have any bags?’
It’s always nice to end with a classic.
I glance at the aisles to check that the Closing Time couple aren’t nearby. No – what a shame! I would have treated them like kings this time. Never again would they have come to do their shopping at 8.55 p.m.!
The day is over. I clean my conveyor belt with particular care (‘I’m going to miss you, you know. Thanks for helping me so much’) and the rest of my till. It is all so automatic that you almost forget why you’re doing it. This evening though, I know that it’s for the colleague who will take my place tomorrow. I wonder who will replace me on this till? You don’t normally think about that. Why should you?
Last check. Last look from this side of the till. Everything is in order, nothing is lying around. With my cash box under my arm I walk down the line of tills one final time to the Office. The white tiles seem to continue endlessly in front of me. My feet are taking the same paththat they have followed almost every day for the last few years though. It is difficult to tell myself that the next time I come here I will just be a customer. I slow down. I want to keep a bit of my soul here.
The security shutters come down. The blinding white fluorescent lights are turned off and we are left in the shadows. My footsteps resonate in the great empty store. A solitary beeeep! can still be heard like a goodbye from the tills I used all these years. But it’s time to go to the Office and cash up for the last time.
The amount is correct! It’s strange to think it’s the last time I’ll handle all those coins and notes. The money is returned to my cash box and I close it for the final time. It is given to my colleagues in the Office. The label with my number will soon be taken off the metal box and given to the person who will replace me.
Who will then become just a faceless number.
Checkout girls are often only temporary. They are employees who come and go and one looks much like the other … or do they?
A little glass of champagne? Orange juice? Some goodbye crisps at least? Dream on. You were a checkout girl, remember, not a lawyer! My colleagues hug me. It’s a good thing they’re there.
I clock out one last time (well, I hope so!). 9.15 p.m. Right on time. Ah, that capricious machine which made me enter my card over and over again. This time I win! Someone else will be using this card tomorrow.
Employees come and go and one looks much like the other … or do they?
I think that the tills will haunt me for a long time. The lights, the background noise, the familiar faces of all the customers I met over the years, all the colleagues I worked with. All that is over for me today. Eight years behind the till (amazing!). I leave with a big (recyclable) shopping bag full of
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