Self service checkouts.

Like most of the population I dislike them.

There are many reasons, of course doing people out of jobs is the main one, and pandering to the world’s current do it fast and run attitude another.

But speaking as one who way back worked as a part time checkout chick, I have other reasons.

Too many people look at “checkout chicks” as non-entities, but there’s such a wide range of people on the registers.

Young uni students earning some cash, mums working the 9.30am to three pm shifts so they can earn money while still being able to pick up the kids.

Older, steady staff like I was, tend to work the odd shifts.

It’s the opening at six am and late shifts that end around midnight where you find us. Both carry responsibilities, counting money in and out, opening and shutting things, cleaning…

As a writer, I have always been observant, people’s faces interest me, they tell me so much.

I could never just throw the items in the bag, say “have a nice day” while my mind was elsewhere. There was always a person behind the face on the other side of the register so I chatted.

There were several of us that took a quiet interest in all of our customers.

We watched if a woman appeared pregnant, and slowly enlarged over the months, and, then, suddenly deflated in size, reappeared with a tiny, red-faced infant, tucked proudly into a pusher. We saw the two old people who always shopped together, and then, when two became just one, we were sad for them and told them so.

The Beatles song – Eleanor Rigby – is always one that has stayed in my mind because of the night shifts.

That’s when the lonely people come in.

During the day, when things are busy, it’s not possible to spend much time talking, and technically you aren’t supposed to, but evenings are different.

They drift in and wander around, and come quietly to the register buying one thing, maybe a jar of jam, some chewing gum… and pay in cash.

I realised after a while, that I was probably the only person in their entire day that they got to have a conversation with, so I made sure they got some of my time and a chat.

I actually asked one quiet young man if I was the only person he got to talk to and he nodded quietly, dropped his head, and said yes.

So, in the quiet of the evening, us oldies made sure they got a smile, a hello, and a bit of a chat.

Holding out their change, the touch of our hand on theirs was also the only human contact they had.

I wasn’t the only one. As I said before, checkout chicks are often thought to be nobodies, but many of us are intelligent and caring and we see life close up with all its facets.

All the lonely people – there are too many.

I have retired ten years from that job. I hope, late at night they still get the chance for a chat.  At least at that time of night the bloody self-service registers will be closed.