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Post by gazz on Mar 21, 2020 21:58:12 GMT
I'm going to share this because it's a genuinely good read from Des Hinks Jnr over on Marionsboard:
I started a temporary job at my local Tesco today as all the events I’m hosting have been cancelled until June at the absolute earliest.
Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 1:
Stacked some shelves. Called myself a c**t a few times for all the occasions I’ve picked up a pizza, changed my mind, and then put it back with the biscuits. That really is a ballache to have to fix constantly.
Smashed a large jar of Sauerkraut all over an aisle. Glass everywhere. And I chose one of the smelliest items in the store, which literally stank the whole aisle out. Great way to make friends on day one.
Got stopped for about 5 minutes chatting to a bloke looking for a huge bottle of Chilli sauce (which didn’t exist), who then proudly proclaimed he’d bought some tissues from a pound shop to wipe his arse with, like he’s just discovered electricity or something.
Laughed at two proper scallies stocking up on Corona, commenting on the fact that nobody seems to be buying Corona at the moment, then saying: “It all goes down the same f*ucking hole doesn’t it?”
Unwittingly got my bum crack out bending down to stock the bottom shelves. Straight away, an elderly lady comes up, excitedly telling me I had a nice bum, before asking me to show her where the Weetabix was.
Got pretty excited seeing a dart board and a pool table in the staff room.
Realised the general public are f*ucking morons for stockpiling. Shops are not closing, they’re open literally 7 days a week. Deliveries are being made daily. You really don’t need a cupboard full of baked beans or 57 bog rolls (even if you get Coronavirus, it doesn’t give you the sh*ts anyway.) It’s selfish as f*uck as well. I actually got quite upset today trying to help really frail elderly people do their shopping, and I couldn’t get them any milk or bread.
Day 2 tomorrow.
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Post by gazz on Mar 21, 2020 21:59:00 GMT
Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 2:
**Please share if this gives you a giggle or two. I think it would be funny as f*ck if this went viral**
Started with a team meeting. Couple of questions from the manager: “Have you got gloves?” “Have you got a knife?” sh*t! Have we got Grandma’s scrapping over bread rolls that I’m gonna have to go and deal with? Are we off to do an armed robbery at Sainsbury’s to stock up on bog rolls? Turns out we were just starting the day stocking the freezers.
In the end, I didn’t need my gloves. Found it harder to work with them on. So I took them off. I was the only glove-less worker in the entire freezer section. Therefore, I am now the hardest lad at Tesco. I’ll be first on the frontline if we ever have it with Waitrose, the posh salmon-in-dill-sauce-eating b*stards.
Continued to struggle trying to find where certain items go that I’ve never, ever bought in my life. Tinned Semolina being one of them. “Oh it goes there love,” says an old woman with a bobble hat on. This is the first job I’ve had where I’m being trained by the customers.
Got called into the warehouse with all the other workers, where the manager gave us all a thank you card and some boxes of Celebrations and Heroes to share. Everyone here at Tesco Chester genuinely is lovely. (I made sure I got a Galaxy and a Malteaser straight away, seeing as I am the hardest lad at Tesco.)
Stocked the vegetarian Quorn section myself, and to my shame, genuinely got excited at the thought of being able to buy my own dinner later that I’ve stacked on the shelves myself. Make a note to self that I really need to get a girlfriend, which shouldn’t be a problem now I am the hardest lad at Tesco.
Started work with a new guy who has been tickling me all day. He’s the type of guy you’d write as your first character in a sitcom and base it all round him. He did a proper loud fart with a blissful nonchalance right in the middle of an aisle, saying: “Better out than in.” Also told me this was the store he used to come in through the front door, and helped himself to a bar of chocolate and a can of Coke which he finished off by the time he walked out the back door. I’ll probably end up being best man at his wedding.
Followed a guy who picked up an entire cardboard crate of Heinz beans (Oh yeah, forgot to say, we’re back in stock!!!) and took them to the tills. Mainly as he properly pissed me off. And also just to keep an eye on our checkout staff, knowing they’d tell him he could only buy three tins, as a few have been abused last few days. As expected, he was told he could only have three tins, so I picked up the cardboard crate to take back, giving him a menacing dirty look as I did so. Crikey, I actually AM the hardest lad at Tesco.
Our store is about to close now, and I’m about to spend my last hour or so stocking the shelves with milk, bread, eggs etc that we’ve kept in the back, ready for the NHS workers to buy who we’re opening early for in the morning. I’m not expecting a Pride Of Britain award or anything, but I’ve got a pretty warm glow inside knowing our incredible NHS workers will be able to come to our shop in the morning and get all the essentials they need, that I’ve spent my Saturday night stacking. (Although it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go, unless anyone knows of any secret Speakeasy style pubs open. Sod this virus, I do fancy one of those and be all 1920s American gangster for the evening.)
Oh, and I spilled zero jars of Sauerkraut on the floor today. In just one day, I’ve got a 100% improvement on spilling jars of Sauerkraut. I’ll be in line for Employee of the Month at this rate. Well, you know what they say, every little helps. (He saves the shittest joke for last.)
Day 3 tomorrow.
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Post by gazz on Mar 23, 2020 9:49:39 GMT
Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 3.
***PLEASE SHARE IF THIS GIVES YOU A GIGGLE***
Smashed another bottle all over the floor today. A bottle of some sort of Polish red juice. The day one Sauerkraut incident absolutely stank out the aisle. Today, the amount of red juice looked like I’d murdered someone. Also worried I might be a closet racist, as I’ve only smashed foreign food on the floor at the moment. I might seriously #### up a loaf of Warburtons tomorrow just to even things up a bit.
After I’d dropped the juice (my second calamity in three days) one of my colleagues came up and said: “I didn’t drop a single bottle in my first three months here. I was on crisps though.” He can be my warm-up act if this adventure turns into a stand up comedy show.
One girl dropped a full crate of Laughing Cow cheese everywhere today. I quipped: “Ah, I bet the cow isn’t laughing now.” Nobody laughed. I’m wasted in Tesco. I should be having dinner and cocktails with Stewart Lee and Stephen Fry every night.
Spent a good few hours just by myself stacking all the crisps today. I’m being given a lot of responsibility and it’s only day three. In all the jobs I’ve ever had, I do take pride in my work, and I find myself really making sure the crisps look nice, facing forward, right section etc. Also, however, I’m talking to myself as I’m doing it, so I might be going slightly mad. Things like “No, stay there Quavers” and “Where do you live Wotsits?” 35 years on this planet and it’s gonna be Tesco that sends me to the loony bin.
The store shut at 5pm today so after that it’s really casual at night. Music over the tannoy and a chance to half-work and half-pissabout. As we were stood around, one lad went flying past the end of the aisle on a trolley of cheese. One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Maybe you had to be there, though.
‘Fart Boy’ from yesterday was on form today, on three occasions: 1) Asked me if Cheestrings burn if you take a lighter to them. 2) Came up and asked me a question at the top of his voice when he had headphones in playing music. I genuinely thought he was taking the piss, but he honestly didn’t realise. 3) As we were chatting about young people generally being okay and older people bring ####ed from Coronavirus, came out with this belter: “That’s cause we’re like brand new Ferrari’s aren’t we and they’re like sh*tty Morris Minors.”
Day 4 tomorrow. (This place is beginning to grow on me)
***PLEASE SHARE IF YOU’VE ENJOYED THIS. IT’S GOOD THERAPY FOR ME!***
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Post by gazz on Mar 23, 2020 23:47:31 GMT
Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 4.
So, Boris has just made his big announcement. I’ve got one of my own today. It’s for the couple who smashed a glass jar of Sharwoods Curry Sauce all over the floor, that I had to clean up as I was doing that aisle at the time. It’s a short message. You cockwombles.
In other news, it appears my hilarious daily anecdotes aren’t enough for some people, it’s actually Fart Boy who the nation are taking to their hearts, and demanding more from him. Well, sorry to disappoint, but he wasn’t in today. But I do have another character to introduce. Cheese Man. We were stacking cheese together, and got chatting, as you do. He came out with the following: “I ate cheese constantly as a baby, like all the time. Had to go to the doctors when I was 3 because my sh*t in my nappies was always white. I was just always eating cheese out of the fridge all the time.” To further the conversation, I replied: “Oh right, any type of cheese in particular.” His comeback? “Anything. I just love cheese.” If I’m still here at Christmas, I hope I get him in the Secret Santa.
Planning to launch my own men’s fitness business after this, as I know how Jason Statham and Arnold Schwarzenegger get such good bodies. They cart 20kg packets of cat litter and dog food up and down supermarket aisles for an hour or so. ####, they’re heavy. Note to self: don’t bother getting a cat or a dog.
Realised I’m better than everyone else today. I know they say in life nobody is better than anybody else, and we’re all the same, but they’re wrong. Teachers, doctors, nurses, I’m better than all of you. Because I got given a Tesco fleece today. That puts me in Britain’s 1% elite. In fact, it could actually prove quite valuable in these coming weeks, as it could stop me getting shot dead by soldiers if I’m caught in the street, because as one of this country’s ‘key workers’ now, I’m allowed out on the pavements. So ner ner ner ner ner to everyone else. And no, I can’t get you any bog roll.
Decided my favourite part of the job is stacking the freezers. Because everything is in cold, hard boxes like pizzas, pies, ready meals etc, they all fit together like a jigsaw. And I now pretend I’m playing a giant game of Tetris. 8 Goodfellas Pizzas slotted in, SCORE! 12 boxes of Birds Eye Potato Waffles, SCORE! I really am starting to enjoy this place.
Our in-store Costa closed down today, so we got shitloads of cakes, toasties, paninis etc left for us in the staff room. That was pretty cool. Apart from people losing their jobs, obviously. Actually, #### it, the lemon tart was pretty mega.
A guy asked me where the ham was today. It was literally right next to him. “It’s right there you ####ing moron!” I screamed. (I didn’t really. Whenever I am wearing my Tesco fleece I have to be helpful and courteous at all times. Apart from that couple who smashed the curry sauce who really can go and #### themselves sideways. Even though I don’t know what that actually means.)
Some woman had a full basket of hot dog rolls with reduced stickers on. That was pretty weird. Unless she’s having some sort of weird secret Coronavirus hot dog party somewhere.
That’s your lot for today. Potentially tomorrow could be chaos with even more panic buying after today’s announcement. Time will tell.....
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Post by hatter_in_macc on Mar 24, 2020 10:02:06 GMT
Just catching up with these now. Great stuff from Des! Cheers for posting them, Gazz-man.
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Post by dudleyhatter on Mar 24, 2020 12:29:44 GMT
As a former shelf stacker and shop worker these stories are as relatable now as they were 30 years ago in Co-op Hazel Grove. Cheers Gaz
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Post by gazz on Mar 24, 2020 12:46:17 GMT
As a former shelf stacker and shop worker these stories are as relatable now as they were 30 years ago in Co-op Hazel Grove. Cheers Gaz Did used to work in that shopping giant, Duds?
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Post by dudleyhatter on Mar 24, 2020 14:55:59 GMT
The one that’s now Asda
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Post by gazz on Mar 24, 2020 15:19:45 GMT
That's the one, next door to what used to be Elvis' Palace! I bet I've walked right past you many times in there, maybe even asked you for assistance, as I used to go in there regularly in the 80s and 90s!
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Post by gazz on Mar 24, 2020 22:12:01 GMT
Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 5.
Don’t really feel like writing a diary today. Woke up to some devastating news that Sports Direct will be closing after all. The wonderful Mike Ashley was going to keep his ‘essential’ (sweat) shops open to the public to help us through this difficult time. How we’ll beat this Coronavirus outbreak now without a regular supply of tennis balls and skipping ropes I just do not know.
Boris sends me a text message this morning telling me I have to stay indoors. I leave the house straight away. Not because I’m a rebel, but due to the fact I am the saviour of the United Kingdom as a ‘key worker’. I arrogantly strut down the pavement in my Tesco fleece, expecting girls to be swooning over me as I pass by. But there’s literally nobody about. If I’m not gonna get a sh*g out of being a ‘key worker’ I’m expecting a cup of tea and a Jammie Dodger with the Queen at the very least.
Had a team meeting with a couple of managers before we started our shift. One has just come back from a week in isolation, but looks like he’s spent the last week in an Italian hospital. So if this diary ends a bit abruptly, you know why.
As there’s still loads of new staff, returning managers, scattered shifts etc we went over things like hours worked, and ages. As we went round the circle, one lad said he was only 16. “Well you become a bit more complicated,” said one of the managers. I genuinely thought the young boy, stood like a rabbit in the headlights, was going to burst out crying. (He didn’t.)
With all this going on currently, I realise I should appreciate the small things in life. Like the birds singing in the sky. Like the health of my friends and family. Like being stood in a completely different aisle to Fart Boy but still hearing the occasional (and unbelievably loud) “Ahhhh, #### me,” as he’s picking up heavy stuff. How a manager hasn’t heard him I’ll never know.
Speaking of Fart Boy, a couple more classics today. He had an argument with his girlfriend last night. “I was ready to leave the house, I even had my Xbox packed up, that’s how serious it was.” They had another argument this morning, which resulted in her throwing his bacon butty in the bath. I would sell my Mum to Isis for the chance to stick a CCTV camera in his house.
Stacked shelves with a new character today. Weird Checking Man. So, the job is really easy. They bring out massive cages of food and you all just get stuck in, grab something, and put it in the right place yourself. But this guy takes off one item at a time really slowly, passes them out to all the staff, and weirdly states what the item is and asks if you’re okay putting it on the shelf. “Sugar. You okay with that?” “Curry Sauce. You okay with that?” “Porridge. You okay with that?” I’ve not yet figured out how to switch him off. I don’t even know if he’s A) permanent staff B) temporary staff or C) walked in off the street, which to be fair you’d probably get away with such is the chaos in a supermarket at the moment. I’m half expecting to walk into the canteen and see him eating bat on toast or something.
Later, Weird Checking Man asks me to accompany him into the warehouse. sh*t. Is this my Jimmy Saville moment? Turns out he wanted help bringing a massive cage of food out, which to be fair, had been stacked far too high. Obvious solution would be to remove some stuff from the top to make it safer. But he wanted us both to take the full cage out together, kind of keeping an eye on the precariously placed items on top of the cage. Ten seconds later, a box of Cheese and Broccoli Pasta’n’Sauce has landed on his head, and there’s a smashed bottle of Mayonnaise on the floor. Quick as a flash, I quipped: “There’s no use crying over spilt Mayonnaise.” He just made a long “ahhhhhh” noise, which sounded like a sheep.
Smashed a bottle of BrewDog beer everywhere today, as I was stacking crisps, which actually takes some doing. That’s three ####-ups in five days. And another foreign item technically, as BrewDog originated in Scotland. Still nothing English broken. I’m some sort of Tesco Tommy Robinson.
Added a couple of Tesco friends on Facebook today (Aiden and Little Liam), hence these diaries are now going down quite well in the staff canteen. Little Liam even personally asked me to go on crisps with him today, as I’m the best of all the newbies. He’s got OCD about crisps all facing the right way, but worryingly, so do I now. It really is a thing of beauty seeing a full aisle of shiny crisps all facing the right way. God help any Tesco shopper who comes in here now and puts a packet of Frazzles back in the wrong place. I’d do life for that sh*t.
And on that note, hugs and kisses everybody. See you tomorrow.
PS) I’ve just smashed a lad at pool in the staff room as well. I’m like the Tom Hardy of Tesco.
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Post by gazz on Mar 26, 2020 0:38:40 GMT
Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 6.
My walk home from work at 11 o’clock last night was quite spooky. Literally nobody at all on the streets, but loads of police cars driving around, obviously checking up on everything. I pretended I was Cillian Murphy in 28 Days Later, and that flesh-eating zombies might come crawling out of Primark or Greggs at any moment to eat me. Didn’t see any, though. It’s a pretty boring 15 minute walk home, got to do something to pass the time. Can’t exactly walk down the high street having a w**k, even if the streets are deserted.
Work started with a meeting where we were told to expect a full lockdown in the next few days. As measures are ramped up, we’re putting staff on the doors to control the flow of customers. The hardest lad in Tesco is definitely getting that job isn’t he? Looking forward to saying things like “Sorry Grandma, not today love” and bodyslamming any unruly customers to the ground. I’ll act tough, until a load of teenagers from Blacon turn up trying to get in, at which point I’ll run off and hide in a cardboard trolley.
Had a guy asking me if we had any flour, because he wanted to make pancakes. The only one we had was a little bag of self-raising flour (which I’m sure you can use to make pancakes can’t you?) but he actually got quite upset, saying: “No that isn’t the right one.” I was gonna point out that Shrove Tuesday isn’t for another 11 months but I thought this pancake-obsessive might have gone and chucked himself off a bridge.
Fart Boy is having a house party on Saturday night! Do I do the right thing, follow Boris’s advice and stay at home, or head out to what could be the social event of the century. This is possibly the toughest decision I’ve ever had in my life. He’s got a house with his girlfriend and kid, but for the time being he’s got a flat as well as it’s on a long lease, so he’s basically sticking two fingers up at the world and inviting everyone round this weekend. He’s charging £5 to get in (cheeky bastard, I’ve got into strip clubs for less) and £2 a can. I’d actually consider taking a bout of Coronavirus on the chin to experience one of his house parties.
Liverpool fans need to stop complaining, just because their plans to celebrate a first Premier League title in 30 years are on hold for a while. Other people are going through much, much worse at the moment, who we need to care for and look after. That’s right, the Tesco Chester Pool Tournament has been suspended at the Quarter Final stage. Came in to find all the pool cues removed this morning, and a sign on the pool table saying ‘Temporarily out of use’. I’m still adamant this has happened after I smashed the young lad (4 red balls remaining) last night, but it is due to the virus apparently. We can do nine hour shifts together in a confined space all day, but a quick game of pool is too risky. It’s political correctness gone mad.
Fart Boy has a new career in mind after Tesco. He wants to be a paramedic. “I want to go and give people mouth to mouth,” he said. #### me. Honest to God, if I’m ever in a horrific car crash with my leg hanging off, and he turns up, just whack a DO NOT RESUSCITATE on my forehead.
Saw a sign at work today that said: “Be alert. If you see anyone you don’t know, ask them who they are and what they are doing.” My productivity took a nosedive after that. Janice said she was shopping. Terry said he was shopping. Barbara said she was shopping. George said he was shopping. Linda said she was shopping. Barry said he was shopping. I’ve not managed to get any work done all day.
Debated what sort of people buy a £20 jar of honey (which we have in store) today. I agreed with Fart Boy when he said: “Some people have more money than sense.” He then tickled me when he said: “My drug dealer doesn’t even charge me that.”
A lady asked me for a tin of Stewing Steak. She wanted quite a nice one, but all we had left was Tesco’s own brand. “Oh, I don’t want that cheap one,” she said. Fart Boy came up and said: “I don’t blame you. It’ll be full of sh*t that. No meat in them.” This lad has got to be a secret rogue operative from Asda or something.
Day 7 tomorrow.
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Post by gazz on Mar 27, 2020 8:25:40 GMT
Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 7.
You’ve finally done it you nation of greedy guzzlers. We’ve finally ran out of food. Well, until 5pm anyway, when a new delivery is expected. Trouble is, I start at 2pm and there’s literally nothing to do, and there’s about 20 members of staff in our team meeting. I don’t think the manager knows what to do with us all, so he sends us outside to sweep and tidy the yard. Part of the job is to move the giant steel cages so we can clean behind them. The instruction from the manager to a couple of lads is the following: “If you can pull out, I’ll give you a hand.” Crikey. 50 shades of Tesco.
As I’m sweeping the yard in the sunshine, I feel like I’m in that scene from The Shawshank Redemption. Except there’s no psycho Tesco manager threatening to throw us off the roof.
Our store manager is a lovely lady called Kay. Guess what game Fart Boy has come up with for his illegal party on Saturday night. Pin the tail on the don-kay. To be fair, it’s probably the wittiest thing he’s said in his life.
A few of us stack the freezers for a while. Nobody can quite work out where the ######s go. I just keep hearing people say the word ######s repeatedly for a few minutes. Then a really camp temporary worker (who makes me laugh every time I see him because he absolutely reminds me of the character Matthew in the episode at the MEN Arena in That Peter Kay Thing) comes up excitedly saying: “Ooooo, I love that joke.” Although nobody has actually made a joke. They just keep saying the word ######s. Jesus, it’s a good job Fart Boy isn’t here.
I watch a man and a woman having a full conversation in an aisle, but stood well apart from each other, fully respecting the social distancing black and yellow tape that’s currently plastered all over the supermarket. You couldn’t imagine a more British scene even if Boris Johnson was sat eating cucumber sandwiches on a village green, w**king off to old photos of Margaret Thatcher.
A woman in Aisle 23 with a big Aldi bag is staring at me from afar for about five minutes as I’m stacking Cup a Soup’s. She either fancies me, or she’s about to stick a screwdriver in my face or something. Eventually, I ask her if she needs anything. “I’m waiting on flour,” she quietly says, in a really sad tone like she’s just watched the end of Titanic. “My husband’s diabetic and I make him his own bread at the moment but we need the right one.” I go back into the warehouse, pull out an entire cage onto the shop floor containing some flour, and hand her what she’s looking for. “Thank you so much, you’re an angel,” she says. I feel warm and lovely inside, for a whole 60 seconds, before a customer stomps off in a huff when I tell her we’ve ran out of yeast.
A full cage of tinned fruit comes out and a young girl carries off three full crates of pineapple chunks at once. I seriously struggle with two, but not wanting to lose face, I take a third as well, and can feel my legs shaking. If the Coronavirus doesn’t finish me off, a hernia will.
All the staff in the shop are doing nine hour shifts together, and not socialising with anyone else out of work, so we’re all pretty comfortable with each other. But one woman in the canteen goes round insisting everyone distances from each other, with only two staff members at each table. “What time are you going home,” says one of the managers, with exquisite comedy timing.
At 8pm, we join in with a round of applause for all the NHS workers. I’ve no problem giving a young nurse the clap. In fact, I’d love the opportunity but all the sodding nightclubs are shut at the moment. Technically, the round of applause is for key workers like supermarket staff as well, but it’s really only the NHS and other important people who need thanking. We’re doing a good job, don’t get me wrong, but it’s really not that difficult putting Lurpak in a fridge. I do actually make a joke in the canteen about us being more important than NHS workers, and the round of applause is really for us. My manager’s response is the following: “I think I’d rather stack a pallet of baked beans than save someone’s life who’s got Coronavirus.” I don’t think he gets my sense of humour yet. Ah well, I’ve still got 11 weeks to work on him.
Day 8 tomorrow.
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Post by hatter_in_macc on Mar 28, 2020 14:33:33 GMT
Oh no - he's been sacked! #BoycottTesco Posting it here sharpish, before the blog gets taken down... Diary of a temporary Tesco worker. Day 8.
My shift starts by bringing out full cages of bottled water and Pepsi and stacking them in the drinks section, which is in the opposite corner of the supermarket to the warehouse. It means I have quite a bit of distance to cover with this giant cage on wheels, and I pretend I’m playing a real-life game of Colin McRae Rally. It’s 1998 all over again on the Tesco shop floor and I’m on my PlayStation. I never thought carting round litre bottles of Robinson’s orange squash could be so exciting, although I get carried away at one point, taking a corner far too quickly and bumping into a promotional display of Smirnoff vodka just as I’m nearing the finish line. My heart jumps into my mouth quicker than Katie Hopkins chasing column inches in the Daily Mail, but fortunately the cardboard unit is sturdy enough to withstand the force of impact. This week, I’ve got away with smashing individual bottles of sauerkraut, Polish juice and BrewDog beer but somehow I don’t think writing off about £1,000 worth of Smirnoff vodka would be viewed quite so lightly. Jesus, Russian vodka. Even Putin might have turned up over that one with a a silencer at the back door. On my second lap, there’s a small ramp I have to go up, leading from the warehouse to the shop floor. And I honestly cannot get the cage to the top of the ramp on my own. In my defence, please try and imagine how heavy 200 litres of liquid is. Although I do feel like I’m about six years old when Personal Trainer Boy (a lovely lad who runs his own personal training company on the side) takes the cage off me, and comfortably wheels it to the top of the ramp, with about as much effort as peeling a banana. I overhear an upbeat female customer chatting to one of my colleagues, who says: “At least you’ve still got loads of Easter eggs and alcohol, that’s all we really need.” I grab her immediately, and impregnate her in the staff room. Early in the afternoon, I’m called out of the warehouse by the manager who oversees the whole grocery department (which I’m in) and into the meeting room. The powers that be have seen the Tesco diary. Hmm, this could be interesting, although it’s not exactly a secret as I’ve had the staff in the canteen in stitches over the last few days. He’s a really nice guy, who I can tell feels as awkward as I do when he pulls out his ‘Let’s talk’ form, which he tells me is just an informal chat, and not a disciplinary or anything like that. He tells me that the diary is funny, and that your own social media is personal to you, but obviously to be careful with anything that mentions Tesco. I ask if anyone’s complained, which they haven’t. I apologise if I’ve inadvertently offended anyone. And I ask him if Tesco would like me to take it down. He just tells me to keep an eye on what I put. Fair enough. I get back to work. I see another sign in work today, which reads: “What would make your day better?” It’s a large, colourful display in one of the staff corridors, the type of which you’d see in a primary school, with contributions from kids such as “I love my mummy, she is nice” and “Daddy made me potato waffles for tea, it was yummy”. The Tesco display is for staff to anonymously add post-it notes with suggestions on what would make their day better. Good idea, actually. I take one myself, write “Not dying if a customer breathes on me’ and add it to the wall. A middle-aged man stops me in the aisle, asking about crates of lager. Man: “There’s a sign here saying I can only purchase a maximum of three items. Is that right?” Me: “Yes, just while all this is happening at the moment, we’re limiting it to three items of a particular product for each customer, so there’s enough for everybody.” Man: “So why’s it saying it’s on offer two for twenty quid then?” Me: “Erm, that’s a good point actually.” Customer 1 whoever-does-the-price-labels-at-Tesco 0. Mid-afternoon, I’m called back into the meeting room, this time by a more senior manager, who kind of oversees the whole shop floor. He knows I had the ‘Let’s talk’ chat with one of the other managers literally about an hour ago (and all I’ve done is stacked shelves since then) but I’m now being told I have to attend an investigation meeting at 5 o’clock tomorrow, with the reason in the letter I’m given stating ‘an inappropriate use of social media’. Jesus, this is escalating faster than the Coronavirus. I’m gonna be in Guantanamo by the end of my shift. He also asks me to delete everything off Facebook, which I comply with immediately. I bump into Weird Checking Man in the warehouse. He appears, suddenly, sporting a wry smile. The only conclusion I can make from his expression is that he’s just fingered Michelle Keegan in the staff toilets. Once all of the new delivery has been stacked on the shelves, things go a bit quiet again. There’s still loads of staff, and not too much to do, so I’m sent to the back door of the supermarket on bouncer duty. Usually, customers can come into the store via this door, but today it’s exit only. And the hardest lad in Tesco is sent out to make sure that’s adhered to. Good part of the job? I’m given a walkie talkie to report any ‘trouble’ to the real security guards at the front of the store. Bad part of the job? Because customers have already walked down quite a long road to get to the back door, and then told by me they’ve got to walk all the way round to the front door, I’m about as popular as Piers Morgan at a house party. Customers are muttering all sorts under their breath after I’ve turned them away. (I did let an old lady come through as I didn’t have the heart to make her walk all the way round, but don’t tell anyone.) However, not every customer hates me. One slightly eccentric chap with his front teeth missing doesn’t care at all that I’m not letting him in, and ends up chatting to me/bugging me for about 15 minutes. He tells me he’s delivered the local paper for 30 years, and regales me with this story from one of his recent paper rounds: “Hey, you’ll never guess what. I was delivering my papers the other morning. I left my trolley on the pavement like I always do. And I saw this guy staring at my trolley for about five minutes. I went up to him and asked him why he was staring at my trolley, and he said, ‘What’s that doing there?’ So I pointed at the trolley and said, ‘Can’t you hear it?’ He said, ‘No I can’t hear anything.’ So I said, ‘Well it’s not a bomb then is it.’ This country really is f***ing bananas, isn’t it? I love it. As I’m stood defending the back door, the manager from my first meeting comes out, and asks me to go and see the Store Manager. This is now the third time I’ve been summoned in about four hours, and all I’ve been doing is working all afternoon. The Store Manager knows I’ve had my ‘Let’s talk’ meeting, and then my subsequent letter for the investigation tomorrow afternoon, but now I’m being told my employment with Tesco is being terminated immediately, as a result of my diary. The Store Manager actually tells me I’m a lovely chap who everyone seems to like, and I’ve been an extremely hard worker all week, but the Tesco brand comes first, and one of the main reasons is genuinely that I used a picture of the Tesco logo as my profile picture on Facebook. Tesco’s annual turnover was almost 52 billion pounds in the last financial year. I’ll let you decide for yourself how much of an effect my diary for a few friends and family will have on that figure. Granted, my smashed bottles of sauerkraut, Polish juice and BrewDog have cost Tesco approximately £4.63 this week. And for that, I will be appearing on Good Morning Britain on Monday to make a full statement apologising unreservedly for those damages. I did put my case forward with the Store Manager. I’ve worked 70 hours this week. I’ve been on time every day. I’ve gone out of my way helping elderly customers all over the store find exactly what they need, and personally gone into the warehouse dragging cages out for them if it wasn’t on the shelves. I happily worked late one evening getting all the food and essentials ready for the NHS staff the following morning. I’ve had customers thanking me all week for helping them. I’ve made friends with loads of Tesco staff, and brightened up their shifts by making them laugh. But the reply to all of that? “Sorry, the Tesco brand comes first.” The corporate beast has triumphed over the little man once again, I’m afraid. So there you have it folks. I’m the first one out the door in the Big Brother house. I’ve not made it to X Factor boot camp. I’m the uncoordinated laughing stock who always gets voted off on the first week of Strictly. After eight days in my blue fleece, ‘Diary of a temporary Tesco worker’ is no more. Literary critics have been saying this diary could be up there with some of the all-time greats like Anne Frank, Samuel Pepys and Adrian Mole. But I’m afraid our time together has come to a premature end. Incredibly, I’ve received hundreds of messages and comments this week on the diary. And not a single one has been negative at all, which indicates nothing has been written offensively. I’ve worked every single day, and writing the diary was my fun, little escape at the end of a long shift, and I think everyone can see it was a light-hearted look at the British humour of working in a supermarket during such unprecedented times at the moment. On that note, I would like to say a massive thank you to all the friends, family and complete strangers who have told me how much they’ve enjoyed it each day. Makes it all worthwhile, it really does. Even though technically you’ve now all got me the sack, you utter pineapple chunks. (Having worked in a supermarket, I now find it more fun to use food items as insults, rather than swear words.) Now, as someone who is self-employed, it’s back to square one again for the next few months, as with the nature of what I do (public events) my income has completely stopped until this virus clears. And as I only started being self-employed a couple of months before the end of the last tax year, all I can claim from the government is three Pot Noodles and a packet of crumpets. So if anyone knows of any jobs going for a hard-working bottle-smasher please let me know. (And after this, I’m happy to sign a disclaimer saying I won’t publish a diary of my work. I’ll just do it as an anonymous blog instead.) On the off chance that anyone reading this is associated with any TV companies, publishing houses, comedy writers etc, please feel free to hook me up. I’d love to sit in a London office, eating grapes and crackers, and writing comedy all day. I actually think I’d be alright at it. And do you know what, f*** it, I’ve given all you lovely people some free comedy for the last eight days, which you’ve all said you’ve enjoyed reading. That’s at least a couple of chapters of a book you’ve had. So if you’d like to chuck a fiver my way to help feed me/wipe my arse/buy me a beer for the next three months, drop me a PM, or email desmondsdiary@outlook.com (on a serious note, I am actually writing a comedy book at the moment and for a fiver, I’ll include your name in it. I’ll even sign a copy for you, which will literally add pennies to the price of the book). The Tesco diary will be coming down shortly before they send the Gestapo round to shoot me on my doorstep (which is a real shame as even Boris might need some comedy relief every day now he’s got the bug) but as you strange people seem to enjoy my daily take on things, you can give ‘Desmond’s Diary’ a like on Facebook, for new material coming soon. As soon as the Coronavirus clears, I’ve decided I’m going to donate some sperm, sit on a bus all day, go speed dating, cycle from Land’s End to John o’Groats and also apply for a job at another Tesco store (just to see how far I get). So that’ll be worth keeping an eye on. And that’s me signing out. I’m off down to Tesco to nick a load of shopping trolleys and chuck them in the river. Stay safe everybody.
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Post by gazz on Mar 28, 2020 14:56:42 GMT
How pathetic is that? If anything, this would have given Tesco some decent, free publicity. Dismissing someone who was trying to earn an honest living during this crisis while cheering people up along the way is as small-minded as you can get.
"Every little helps" my a**e.
f*** off, Tossco.
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Post by dudleyhatter on Mar 28, 2020 18:00:03 GMT
I can understand their point, but if he offered to take it down, and there was nothing defamatory in anything I read, it seems rather harsh to instantly dismiss.
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