Fry Read Free

the traffic, I can see my place of work. Robertson’s Superstore is a bright yellow blot on the horizon. It spans ten football fields, topped by a giant ‘R’. You can see if for miles around, in fact, I have a disconcerting view of it from my bedroom window.
    Eventually, I pull into a space near the front of the store and sit there for a moment, window rolled down as I smoke a cigarette. I like the way the tobacco mingles with the salty seaweed scent of the air.
    "Isabel?" My manager, Sonya, peers in at me.
    “Morning.” I give her a weary smile.  
    “Did you have a nice weekend?”
    “I worked most of it,” I remind her. Now that Robertson’s is open 24-7, there are never enough staff to cover all the shifts.
    “Yeah, me too,” she says with a sigh. “Are you coming in? I want to get started.”
    “I’ll be right with you.”
    But not till I finish this cigarette.
    Robertson’s is like a walled city, fortified with rows and rows of economy baked bean cans. We sell everything from groceries to washing machines and mobility buggies. Workers stream through the doors behind me, punching their time cards in unison and shuffling forward, like inmates in a chain gang. Fortunately for me, I am not one of the gang, though my job is only marginally better. As a junior manager, my days can be spent doing anything from dealing with customer complaints to operating the checkout. And since they sacked the cleaners last month, I could even find myself slopping out the toilets, if no one else is available. I haven't had to do this yet, but I plan to be very sick that day.
    “Wide load!” someone bellows as I fall into step with Sonya.
    We whirl round, but it’s just Stu, our senior manager, making one of his rude jokes about the size of Sonya’s bottom. He’s so un-PC it’s not even funny. Though for a man who sprays himself Day-Glo orange, he’s on very shaky territory.
    “Oh, there’s a girl here for an interview,” he says as an afterthought. “She’s waiting in your office.”
    With that, he heads back to the warehouse, where I suspect he spends most of his time sharing sexist jokes and playing cards with the lads.
    Sonya rolls her eyes. “This place would be so much better without him.”
    I can’t help but agree. Stu is a bit of a pillock.
    We step into the office. Alicia is sitting in the corner, looking like a bedraggled orphan. Her hair is all wet from the rain, and she has draped her coat over the radiator to dry. I can’t help noticing that one of her shoes has a hole in it.
    I force a smile onto my lips. “Hi, glad you came! Sonya, this is the girl I was telling you about.”
    “Good to meet you, Alicia. Isabel, why don’t you tell her a bit about Robertson’s?”
    I lick my lips. “Well, as you probably know, this supermarket is the largest one in the area – or it was,” I correct myself. “Until J.Filbert’s opened last year.”
    “That’s the place with the squirrel logo?”
    “Yes.”
    “We primarily need shelf stackers at the moment,” Sonya moves on, “but you’ll probably find that you get to work in other areas of the supermarket too. Do you have any retail experience?”
    “No, but I like shopping!”
    “Me too!” I smile.
    “And I’m very keen to learn,” she adds quickly. “I’m a hard worker.”
    “That’s good.” Sonya glances at her watch. “Sorry, ladies, but I’ve just realised the time. I need to get to a meeting at Head Office. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I suppose the next question, Alicia, is when can you start?”
    Alicia beams. “I can start right now!”
    “Wonderful,” Sonya says. “I just need you to fill in some forms and we’ll put you to work.” She reaches up onto a shelf and pulls down a new starter booklet.
    “Don’t we need to check her references first?” I ask in a low voice, as Alicia fishes about in her handbag for a pen.
    “That’s OK – we’ll do it later. Anyway - any friend of yours is OK by me.”
    I’m