I, too, was a checkout chick – for three years (the last two of high school and the first of uni). Yes, it was boring, but it taught me patience – well, to live a lot in my head, at least. But I always made sure I was polite and helpful to the people trying to buy groceries, who, I recognised, paid my salary – PS: the world does not owe you a living. I didn’t ever fail to serve anyone coz I was having a chat across the checkouts with an equally surly, dull-eyed, dim-witted colleague about how drunk I was going to get that night. And I never turned around to the person I’d just kept waiting for the better part of two minutes and grunted ‘Ya wanna bag with that or what?’
You may well simply be marking time until you get to appear on Big Brother or the audition out-take videos of talentless, deluded eejits making fools of themselves on the latest iteration of The X-Talent, So You Think You Can Simulate Sex, Australia’s Funniest Spinal Injury Videos, Survivor Glee – y’know, all the programs that pass for bread and circuses in our info-rich, knowledge-poor, groundlessly self-confident, shame-and-consideration-deficient society. But FFS, just apply some (a) manners and (b) consideration when you’re supposed to be providing a service in order to relieve folks of their hard-earned cash. If you could engage your brain occasionally, that would be good too.
Seriously, when the Zombie Apocalypse comes, I am going to be looking for the slimmest excuse to whack people in the head region with a baseball bat – you are on the top of my list. Until then, I shall pillory you on my blog and you shall appear in caricature form in my next novel.
You have been warned.