Retail Confessions

I spent 14 years in retail security at the height of the period known as the troubles in Northern Ireland. On one occasion we were searching everyone going into a major shopping mall for explosives and it all gone pretty quietly.

Anyhow just as we were about to break for lunch a female officer turned round and she was as white as a sheet and in clear distress. I asked what was going on and then heard the buzzing coming from a ladies bag so I cleared the area and detained her for police who came and ordered her to empty her bag on the table, she was beetroot red with embarrassment as she emptied her bag and her vibrator flew across the table still buzzing.

We nearly died laughing at the poor woman who as you can imagine was wanting the ground to swallow her. She was let on her way eventually after a stern warning from police.

It’s that wonderful time of year again when we have to count EVERY friggin item in the store. Honestly man, it drives me insane. I just love sitting on my ass counting batteries and pet food for 12 hours while management stands around watching me. The worst part about inventory is that it’s fake.

Last year I was asked by my manager to pretend we had more of a particular brand of TV that was on special offer. Me being new, I didn’t even question it. But now, a year later I realise that they were claiming we had more of the TV’s so they could get a credit when the TV’s go back up in price. And guess who’s job is on the line for doing that if we get caught? Yep, you guessed it, the mug who authorised it – ME!

I’m just waiting for the inevitable speeches about how all these hours are gonna be worth it so we can get a store credit and a Christmas bonus. I’LL BELIEVE IT WHEN I SEE IT!

Yes, Mr Customer, I see you tentatively placing the johnnies and anusol on my checkout. It doesn’t matter if you hide them under the tangerines, I’m gonna see them eventually because I have to scan them. Do you even realise how many of these (and similar) items I have to scan each day? I honestly don’t care. I’m not gonna go home and contemplate whether you are getting your willy wet with your condoms or if you’re pooping in fear. However, I must confess, when you nervously struck up a conversation about working a double shift and I called you a “badass”, I was in fact mocking you. Because, you know, you’ve got a bad arse.

Ever had one of those customers who think you’re best buds now because you happened to ask them how they are? What happened to answering with a simple “I’m fine”? Here I am, 15 minutes later hearing about ALLLL the issues he’s having with his car. Meanwhile, my manager is eyeballing me from the end of aisle 10 with a look that could kill. The worst part is that this customer doesn’t even seem to buy anything when he comes here. Honestly, I’ve never once seen anything in his basket. No, his commodity is human souls. He comes in this store to drain me of my lifeforce, I’m convinced of it.

I used to love kids. In an entirely legal kind of way might I add.

But after 5 years of listening to the snotty faced little cretins down my aisles, I’m done. My main issue is that the fact that this is a workplace as well as a place to shop. Sure, you have to bring your crotch trophy with you, because you can’t afford childcare on your McDonalds wages. (Yes, I consider retail work to be one step higher in the pecking order to flipping burgers, and what). But you could at least try to control your precious little bundle of joy/poop. It’s only crying because you just spent the last 45 minutes talking to your mate Sandra about your irritable bowel syndrome. Remember, you only came in here to buy a chicken korma. How do I know that? BECAUSE YOUR VOICE IS EVEN LOUDER THAN YOUR CHILD. Also, I’m pretty sure Sandra doesn’t want to hear about your bowel movements any more than I want to hear your child’s incessant screeching.

This isn’t aimed at parents that have no choice. Some single parents can’t afford childcare and some haven’t got a decent support structure around them. I get it. I’m talking about those families that treat their weekly grocery shop like a family day out. You’ve got Mum and Dad in deep conversation over why Dad has been spending a lot of time with Kerry from work (naughty Dad!). Meanwhile, little Jade and Aarron are running around the store causing mayhem. And of course, Granny is here too, shuffling around the shop floor like Stephen Hawkins going for a jog. Honestly man. Just give Mum or Dad a list and everyone else should stay at home. You don’t all need to be here. Especially little Jade, the bitch.

I’m not asking for much. Just pop your items onto my checkout and be willing to answer my simple yet necessary questions, such as “Do you need a bag?” or “Do you have a More Card?”. Believe it or not, but it makes it very difficult for me to ask these questions if you’re yapping into your phone and ignoring me. It’s not even as if you’re having a life and death conversation, you’re telling your mate what happened on The Apprentice last night. Cheers for spoiling the episode by the way. I hope your card gets declined.

I’m not being funny, but if you are walking slower than a wounded sloth, then you either need to get out of the store or order online. I’m honestly not trying to be mean, but slow-moving people drive me insane. It’s not like I’m whizzing around like Usain Bolt, but I do have a job to do and I’m not really given a fair amount of time to do it. So when you’re shuffling down the aisle, you’re preventing me from doing my job and more importantly you’re seriously tempting me to run you over with my giant pallet of diet coke. This is why I think we need a slow lane for anyone incapable of maintaining 3-4 miles per hour.