sick of the BEEP!….general operative at supermarket

i was working in a supermarket. not the first supermarket i’d worked in, but by far the worst. it shall remain anonymous, but i refered to it a Kwik Slave. i thought the other two sucked but this was hell in comparison. it started well, they offered me an advance to help me through the first month. the first guy training me did a runner at lunch and never came back (really), so i guess that should have started alarm bells ringing. i got trained up (again-i should be the supermarket king by now), and it seemed ok. they i got moved from the kiosk to a sit down til.

i quickly concluded that they had been designed and built by a cowboy called jospagio, with small monkies in mind. the up-down swivel chairs no longer went up-down, so you were shifting things and twisting round from the depths of a small cupboard, which you had to scrabble down by your feet for plastic bags. you couldn’t see em, not without an endoscope anyway.

the tils themselves came from the old soviet union. anytime you punched a wrong key BEE BEE BEEP! any time you took more than 4 seconds to shut the til BEE BEE BEEP! BEE BEE BEEP! every time….well you get the picBEE BEE BEEP!!!!!!!! you weren’t allowed the responsibility of voiding things either, or doing offers. evertime someone came through with a big bloody bag of meat you had to ring a supervisor. and bread wouldn’t scan either, so you had to go running round for the little piece of paper with the bread codes on. stamps were locked in a safe in the main office. if people asked i wanted to tell them to get out whilst they were still young. if people ever complained i’d just start telling em how bad the place was. however pissed off they were, i was more.

it seemed like those tils were carefully designed to make EVERYTHING we had to do as difficult as possible. they completely removed any autonomy as well, if it didn’t scan you had to get a supervisor-you couldn’t just type in a price. all they needed was my arm and my eyeballs, the rest was surplus and suffering because of it. cheaper than a robot and more submissive than a monkey.

it was also in our contracts to stay behind after our shift had finished for as long as they needed us. you couldn’t even look forward to knocking off because of the added dissapointment you’d face at the end. it wasn’t my timecard i was feeding into that machine, it was my soul.

in the end i just said “fuck it. breads free”. sanitary products:free. a new game every day. on my rare forays into the isles, shelf stacking (bliss) i would invent new games, such as “squashy things are squashy!”. you can play that with just about any cake product. also “don’t rotate stock, and forget to mention any old stuff you find”. oh, and steal cigarettes. and don’t charge friends for booze. i had two bosses, a twat who took his job seriously, and another who you could get on with but who skived and had you called in on weekends.
the first caught me sellin alcohol to an underage kid on one day and gave me a severe talking to. the second caught me selling cigarettes to kids on the very next day. he told me off in a matey kind of way. good job they didn’t talk to each other.

the first month with advance turned into THREE months without pay. then they paid me. about a third of what i should have had. i’d quit a month before so i went back. they had a new manager who said it had happened to everybody and sorted it out. he asked me if i wanted my job back. i declined.

oh, i went back in there the other day and it had changed. instead of the same thirty songs cycling endlessly over the PA, now they had a commentator promising me some “right good hot cross buns”. i physically cringed. i would have murdered someone if i’d had to deal with that on top of everything else. i would have battered some old lady to death with a tin of cheap carrots. i got to the til and i swear to god she was presBEEEEP BEEEEEEP BEEEEEP FUCKING BEEEEEEEPEPEPEPPPEPEPEPPEP!!!!!