Tazeen Ahmad - The Checkout Girl

For Cogs everywhere

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Saturday, 8 November 2008

Sunday, 9 November 2008

Monday, 10 November 2008

Thursday, 13 November 2008

Friday, 14 November 2008

Saturday, 15 November 2008

Sunday, 16 November 2008

Thursday, 20 November 2008

Thursday, 27 November 2008

Friday, 28 November 2008

Saturday, 29 November 2008

Thursday, 4 December 2008

Friday, 5 December 2008

Saturday, 6 December 2008

Saturday, 13 December 2008

Wednesday, 17 December 2008

Thursday, 18 December 2008

Friday, 19 December 2008

Saturday, 20 December 2008

Tuesday, 23 December 2008

Saturday, 27 December 2008

Saturday, 3 January 2009

Sunday, 4 January 2009

Thursday, 8 January 2009

Friday, 9 January 2009

Saturday, 10 January 2009

Thursday, 15 January 2009

Friday, 16 January 2009

Saturday, 17 January 2009

Friday, 23 January 2009

Saturday, 24 January 2009

Friday, 30 January 2009

Saturday, 31 January 2009

Friday, 6 February 2009

Saturday, 7 February 2009

Friday, 13 February 2009

Saturday, 14 February 2009

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Friday, 20 February 2009

Saturday, 21 February 2009

Friday, 27 February 2009

Saturday, 28 February 2009

Thursday, 5 March 2009

Tuesday, 10 March 2009

Friday, 13 March 2009

Saturday, 14 March 2009

Wednesday, 18 March 2009

Friday, 20 March 2009

Saturday, 21 March 2009

Monday, 23 March 2009

Wednesday, 25 March 2009

Friday, 27 March 2009

Saturday, 28 March 2009

Friday, 3 April 2009

Saturday, 4 April 2009

Friday, 10 April 2009

Saturday, 11 April 2009

Friday, 17 April 2009

Friday, 24 April 2009

Saturday, 25 April 2009

Friday, 1 May 2009

Saturday, 2 May 2009

Friday, 8 May 2009

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Copyright

About the Publisher

Except for a short stint in a superstore as a student many years ago, my experience of supermarkets had been the same as most people’s; I’d rush in to complete the dull but essential chore that is the weekly shop, I’d have no time for checkout girls and their small talk. I’d rebuff offers of help tactlessly, make demands as though they were machines programmed to serve me without complaint, and promptly forget their names and faces seconds after rushing out. Little did I know that, behind the identity badges, unflattering uniforms and quiet smiles were individuals taking note of my every quirk, comment and foible.

Never again will I shop the same way. And neither will you.

When I began my six-month career as a checkout girl, the country was reeling from the possibility that we were headed for a full-blown recession. President Obama’s election brought new optimism around the world but could not disguise the doom and gloom that lay ahead. The credit crunch and financial instability were one thing, but in the early autumn of 2008 things were about to get rocky for every man, woman and child in this country—as we slid into the worst recession the world has seen for decades.

Until that point the main casualties of the financial crisis were the banking institutions—Northern Rock, Lehman Brothers, Citigroup, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, along with mortgage lenders and insurance companies. Most ordinary people were still watching developments from a safe distance. However, unemployment figures were creeping up, redundancies and job losses were looming and food prices were on the rise.

As a mother running a busy home and working in a volatile industry I had started to count my own pennies. My grocery shopping was now leaving my wallet disconcertingly light. I’d push my trolley to the car park while staring at the receipt, aghast that the food in my bags now cost well in excess of a hundred pounds: I knew I had to make cutbacks. It was after one such shopping trip, clutching my hefty bill, that I turned back to look at the checkouts and it dawned on me— this was the front line of the recession, where the reality of the downturn really hit home. And that’s how I embarked on my quest to see what a billion-pound hole in our economy would really mean for us all.

Someone, with not much time for reporters, once told me that ‘Journalists always report from the outside in and so only ever see the story from a superficial vantage point.’ My episodes of immersive, experiential or undercover journalism have allowed me the privilege of reporting from the inside out. This requires a degree of individual sacrifice, intrusion, duplicity and commitment that usually leaves me slightly unhinged. However awkward it is personally, thankfully it serves the purpose of shedding light on the truth in a way that turning up with my notebook, pen and press pass never could do. This is that truth.

Why did I choose Sainsbury’s? Actually it chose me. Last autumn, jobs in retail were hard to come by and I searched and applied for a number of positions in various supermarkets before this vacancy cropped up. I had to complete an in-depth online assessment and attend an interview: I got the job. In my first month, as the crisis deepened, I was convinced that, like many other retailers, the supermarkets would eventually fall victim to the downturn. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I sat at my checkout, week in week out, for six months observing first-hand how the nation was adapting to the onset of what would soon be described as the worst global recession since the 1930s. At first, customers were spending hard and most appeared unruffled by the storm brewing ahead. And then as the year drew to an end, I saw a shift: money-saving tactics kicked in, savvy food choices were being made, offers were hunted down and customers were watching the pennies carefully—the recession was starting to bite. I witnessed for myself how the average British family was suffering, as people opened up to me about their money troubles. And some didn’t stop there; I listened, mouth agape, as customers launched into full-blown confessions about their personal lives, divulging their most private thoughts.

To us they are just cogs in the supersonic wheel of our supermarkets, but Checkout Girls and Guys—or Cogs, as I secretly referred to them—have incredible stories to tell and intriguing interwoven lives of their own. Behind the tills, in the shopping aisles, across the customer service desk, beyond the doors leading to the back of the store and upstairs in the canteen and locker rooms, family dramas are played out, love affairs and friendships flourish and sometimes wilt. Here, several members of one family work together, along with friends who grew up together, neighbours, former school friends and flat-mates. At times it’s like a small, cosmopolitan village, at others like a big, bustling, multi-racial family. And on a daily basis they welcome us as shoppers right into the heart of their community while unwittingly becoming spectators to our personal and financial dramas. Against all my expectations I walked straight on to the set of a gripping soap opera in which all of us have a walk on part. The Cogs I met were in Sainsbury’s, but they are in every supermarket and in every town—and they are watching you. This is their story.

So here I am. Day One. My hair’s tied back, my shoes are low-heeled and sensible but even though I’ve got my orange name-badge on, I’m still me. That may be because I haven’t been given my bright blue polyester polo shirt and high-waisted, wide-bottomed, narrow-legged, creased-down-the-front trousers yet.