‘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.
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.
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