The Checkout Girl

‘Oh, so you want sticky stuff to make it straight.’

‘No for straight, like this.’ He indicates using his hands that he wants her hair straight. And his English seems to have got progressively worse.

‘OK, so you want to make her hair straight, right?’

Dad looks at me with exasperation. ‘No.’

I look at her hair and it’s wavy and kind of frizzy. Why am I talking to her dad? This must be mortifying for her. I look her straight in the eyes.

‘You have wavy hair and it’s sort of flyaway, so do you want something for frizzy hair?’

Dad jumps in, ‘No, for the straight, to make it.’

I ask her again: ‘What are YOU after?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispers.

‘Do you want shampoo…conditioner…mousse?’ Come on, girl, give me something. Anything.

She says nothing. They get fed up with me and send me on my way.

Before my shift started I did some grocery shopping. I picked up a packet of Country Life spreadable only to see a sign when I clocked in stating that it was being pulled off the shelves and we weren’t to let any customers buy it. I point this out to another Cog and she tells me to let customer services know. At the end of my shift when I take my butter back, they simply say it would not be scanable if it was withdrawn. They give me a refund and return to their conversation.

I catch my reflection pushing a trolley today and, for a second, think it’s someone else.

Friday, 14 November 2008 (#ulink_c4fbc5ae-56aa-5087-8111-cf7a6cecfa40)

An item I pick up frequently at the tills is washed and ready-to-eat baby leaf spinach; another is ready-made steak pie. Both items are a reminder that the cook in the kitchen ought to try cooking. Customers are also putting in an impressive performance of pretending to purchase foods they have just sampled for free: they put it in their trolley at the samplers table and, once at the checkout, it gets swiftly dumped.

By the end of today’s shift I’ve broken every new rule I’ve been taught. I start putting things back in the wrong place, stop to peruse newspapers, sneak off to the loo to make a phone call. It feels good. And then I count down the hours in slots of ten minutes. That doesn’t feel so good. Fortunately, I manage to conjure up a new plot to get off the shop floor; I ask to shadow a checkout assistant. And that’s how I end up chatting to two checkout girls who speculate that I must be around nineteen. When I tell them how much older I am, they’re gobsmacked.

The older of the two Cogs, who is closer to my age, is alarmed that I’ve had my kids later in life. She had hers twenty years ago. Like all the other Cogs here, she is truly charming. I’m discovering a strong sense of camaraderie. People generally look out for each other here. It’s really quite startling. In this line of work, people are actually NICE.

Today, as on my previous few shifts, I witness staff doing their personal shopping just before they leave the store to go home. And now I know why. It’s the ultimate test of self-resolve to spend so many hours around food, clothes, toys, DVDs, gadgets, computer games—all the trappings of modern commercial life, and all placed to maximise their appeal. Not being allowed to touch, taste or sample any of it, makes me long for them even more. I find myself stroking clothes, squeezing fruit, inhaling deeply at the bakery—and then lingering longingly in the confectionery aisle while chocolate samples are being handed out to customers. Doing your shop at the end of a shift is the equivalent of finally gorging on a giant cream cake after being forced to stare at it on an empty belly for hours. Oh, it feels glorious.

Saturday, 15 November 2008 (#ulink_2d275c21-a17f-5fa0-9450-584b4f18f19f)

The first thing that happens on my shift blows apart my theory about customer service being wasted on the Brits. I help a woman to the car with her two trolleys’ worth of shopping and as we walk she tells me that she had stopped shopping at Sainsbury’s because it had become so expensive. But after one shopping trip to Morrisons, she promptly returned. ‘I don’t know what they do to you guys here, but everyone is so helpful and nice that I would never go anywhere else again.’ She admitted it was still pricier, but she was prepared to dig deeper so people were nice to her.

I spend about three hours doing reverse shopping, picking up hangers and security tags. When I’m ready to weep with boredom, I blag my way on to shadowing on checkouts again. This time with the lovely Maya. She’s been in the job for eleven years and says she took it as a temporary escape from the drudgery of her housewife life. She hasn’t looked back because it’s the one job she can just leave at the door. She says that the place has changed tremendously during her time, particularly on the checkouts.

‘We used to have packers, and someone doing all the running around, and there was none of the customer interaction—that’s all down to us now.’

Maya tells me the busiest days are when offers are on and at the weekends—although Dial-a-Ride (old people on a minibus) Tuesdays are also very busy. She points out that on those days it’s very slow in terms of IPM on which we all get scored. She is, however, fantastic at charming the most uptight of customers, and they cave in quickly.

At the end of the shift there is an impromptu security search—involving the lifting of collars, checking under badges and the removal of socks and shoes. As I empty my pockets, my notes and pen emerge and my heart skips a beat. I’m terrified they’ll ask to look at my notes, but they don’t.

Sunday, 16 November 2008 (#ulink_84118c0a-cee7-59f8-9780-af4a921f672c)

So far no references have been taken up—and I’ve been at the store for about a week. What’s become clear to me in that time is that here ‘colleagues’ (as everyone calls each other) are not only loyal to one another but incredibly loyal to the store too, even though they work their fingers to the bone. I’ve identified two groups of colleagues. The students, age range 16-23, work hard, earning money to get themselves through college; they mingle with the other students and shrug almost everything off with one-, sometimes two-syllable words. The other group is made up of older women in the 30-50 age group; they’ve had their babies, are done with housewifery, and want an easy job that gives them a bit of spare cash. They want to make some friends and work but are qualified to do little else. However there is also a third group emerging—a crop of credit-crunched professionals supplementing their incomes after suffering a pay cut or redundancy. Educated, articulate and with few other options, they find it humiliating and belittling and do it for no other reason than the cash. Despite being qualified and experienced, the recession has hung them out to dry.

We all congregate for delayed Day Two of our induction—and some of the others look brow-beaten. I think they’ve had a tough week. We’re told about ‘the rumble’. Every day from 11.30-12.30 and 15.30-16.30 ‘everyone, and that means everyone’ goes to one department and helps them get their goods on to the floor. I want to ask who is left on checkouts, security and customer service, but don’t dare.

Again it is drummed into us that customer service is our TOP priority. Our main aim, we’re told repeatedly, is to be as helpful as possible—and to always offer an alternative so that customers don’t leave empty-handed. I keep schtum about the elderly gentleman who came in hunting for maternity pads for the daughter who had just given birth. I sent him off to Mothercare. We’re also told to imprint the acronym ‘REACT’ in our minds every single time we deal with a customer—Receive the message, Empathise, Ask questions, Consider options and Tell them the result. We’re reminded that it’s paramount that we keep ourselves looking clean, tidy, have our hair tied back and frequently wash our hands. There are unkind giggles when they talk about someone with a bad BO problem.

Today I also found out that the Mystery Customer Measure makes up only a small amount of the bonus and is based on the availability of produce, and the amount of wastage. The less we waste, the higher our score.

I also discover other trade secrets, the kind that some customers have become aware of—food rotation (longest life at the back) and price reductions just before the end of the day (which explains why so many customers pile in during the evening).

According to the trainer, our uniform is changing. At the moment it’s blue and orange, but from April next year it will come into line with the rest of Sainsbury’s and we’ll be wearing purple and orange. I’m assuming though there’ll be no escape from the polyester.

The most important part of today is our ‘Think 21’ training. We have to ask ourselves if anyone buying age-restricted goods looks under twenty-one. If in doubt, ask for ID. I never carry any age-specific ID and wonder how many people do. The trainer tells us people will try to persuade and cajole, get angry and joke their way into making us sell restricted products to them. But the consequences are no laughing matter: prosecution, a criminal record, a fine and disciplinary action. During the course of the training, I decide to adopt two rules of thumb: if they look like they could work in the store under the student category—ask for ID. And if they have wrinkles, they are probably old enough.

And if we’re not frightened enough by the consequences, we’re told about ‘Jake Edwards’ who sold alcohol to an underage customer. Unfortunately for him, trading standards were testing the store. He faced a criminal charge, had to go to court, lost his job and, worst of all for him, was unable to travel to New York with his girlfriend on holiday. There are gasps all round.

Next on the training agenda is shoplifting. Another acronym—SCONE—explains the tactic used by shoplifters. They Select, Conceal, Observe, No payment, Exit. No one else points this out, but it’s obvious to me that shoplifters are taking advantage of Sainsbury’s desperate attempts to please its customers by working in twos. While one distracts the shop assistant with questions, the other Selects and Conceals.

And on the list of most desired items by shoplifters are the usual suspects—alcohol, CDs, beauty products and…meat. At certain times of year, lamb is apparently so expensive, a shoplifter will sneak it under their jumper with a view to selling it on later. I ask repeatedly how and where this black market in lamb operates. There is no response.

Then there is the ‘red route’ which we are all expected to walk during our shifts—via electronics, DVDs and CDs and past the beers, wines and spirits before heading up to the canteen for break-times. ‘Keep your eyes open and look out for shoplifters.’

Sainsbury’s is trying to up its green credentials. At the moment they play good guy to M&S’s bad guy on the plastic bag front. People are furious about having to pay for plastic bags there. Sainsbury’s keeps bags behind the tills until someone asks, but sometime next year bags will be gone from behind the tills, then they will have to be paid for, and eventually they will disappear altogether.

Thursday, 20 November 2008 (#ulink_ea127e5d-884b-522c-8674-b382ba5b8fd8)

Two weeks after I started, I am finally on checkouts. At first I just shadow and then I’m thrown in the deep end. I am slow and make mistakes, and most of time I’m too intimidated to apply Think 21. But as with my first attempt at parasailing, after the horror of being flung several hundred feet into the sky subsides, the adrenaline kicks in—and I’m high as a kite. I chat to strangers with the confidence of a teen drunk. My small talk is gauche and unrefined but it hits the mark for the few minutes every man, woman and child spends at my till. Through my checkout comes a recent widower who is struggling to shop alone, a young mum, her terrible toddler and a lot of impulse buys, an older mum accompanied by tetchy teenagers with many 3-for-2 offers, and a couple of middle-aged men with an extraordinary amount of chocolate.

At 3.30 p.m. there’s a brief hiatus around the school-run time. Some of the till captains don’t like staff sitting around doing nothing, even for a moment—Samantha is ready to take me off and send me on a reverse shopping trip when it gets busy again. During the afternoon I’m handed yet more mystery customer paperwork to read. It reiterates that we have to be nice, polite and chatty.

The first offer of overtime comes my way today and I turn it down. Overall it’s quieter than I expect. ‘Around the corner, a new Asda has opened up,’ a customer tells me. Another checkout girl tells me it’s quieter this year than last.

That evening I watch a documentary on BBC2 about the beneficiaries of the credit crunch—the discount supermarkets. Lidl and Aldi claim customers can do their weekly grocery shopping with them for half the price it would cost them elsewhere. The secret of their success is no frills, stocking their own brands, making the packaging similar to well-known brands and selling non-food items. The king of Aldi says he keeps prices low by only stocking one type of cornflakes: he thinks customers in other supermarkets are simply paying for the privilege of looking at six varieties.

Giants in the supermarket world must be anxious about the fact that 55 per cent of us now visit discount supermarkets. We’ve known for a while that Tesco is trying to fight back; Sainsbury’s is keeping itself in the running by price-matching them. Fortunately for the higher-end supermarkets, customers do still like premium brands. However, after watching the programme I’m convinced that if people do start cutting back, Sainsbury’s are really going to lose out. Their focus on quality and customer service rather than lower prices seems counterintuitive as the recession grips.

Thursday, 27 November 2008 (#ulink_d8ab0794-0afb-532a-b28c-fc6fae58e3fb)

After my first few days on checkouts, the patience of the till captains has run dry. One of them, Barbara, barely makes any eye contact and rarely answers my questions. I’ve learnt that her steely exterior and no-nonsense attitude coats a tough-love approach—she wants newbies to learn by being thrown in the deep end. I’ve watched her charge around the store like she owns the place and, as she’s been here for aeons, she probably does.

Susie’s friendliness is skin-deep—she’s tired of my inane questions. To start with she would smile kindly even when I asked for the third time how to do a split payment. She’s always polite and has a gentle, amiable manner which makes her popular with the Cogs. Recently though her grin has started to look strained when I beckon her over. I’ve come to dread having to call for any of the supervisors.

On the up-side, the aisles are filled with the sound of neighbourly love. An elderly lady is shopping for an infirm neighbour, a young woman has left work early to shop for her dad laid up with flu, one man is helping his blind brother shop.

Today news breaks about the collapse of Woolworth’s and I eavesdrop on a couple telling another customer how devastated they are by the news.

‘It’s a part of our culture and landscape. I grew up with the shop and so did my kids.’

‘Yes, but do you know what the worst part is? Supermarkets will now be able to charge whatever they want.’