Another nine o'clock start. Oh the joy of waking up early to make my way to the most run down part of town, then spending hours at a cash desk selling cheap tack and designer cast-offs to the mass of blotchiness and sweat that is the public in the July heat.

A job is a job I suppose, but should anyone really have to endure loud, obese women wearing lime green lycra and large chunky gold earings that bounce of their cheeks as they walk? I mean don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those pro-anorexia poeple. No one should have that frame of mind, a bit of padding is always healthy. However, watching these women lift up their stomachs and lay it out onto the cash desk in front of me while they rummage around in their bags and then hand over soggy notes can be just a wee bit disturbing, especially so early in the day. And it gets worse:

"Hen, gonnae gimme five packs of yer assorted chocolates aswell? "

"Five did you say?"

"Aye, Ah just love they chocolates"

"Yes, I'm sure you do, ahem, I mean their just so...erm...chocolatey..."

She's not listening, she's now screaming at her (to my utter horror) topless, baldy spouse to hurry up and get the bags and then something about a sausage supper. She grabs the chocolates and then waddles off, gold jewelery clanging.

Then you get the odd "up there" woman who strides in with her shades, making funny jerky movements with her neck, terrified that anyone catches her in a cheap discount store. I mean, could you imagine such a calamity? 
She cautiously approaches the cash desk, lowers her shades and stares at me long and hard.

"Now tell me honestly, are these brands actually real, or are they fake?"

"No, they're quite real."

She mentally takes me by the shoulders and shakes me hard.

"Are you sure? You're positive?"

"Yes, yes very sure."

I should mention that this whole time, I'm forced to pull a sickening "happy" expression, and to talk in a sing song voice that makes your hair stand on end.
So I chant something to her about a refund policy. This seems to satisfy her. She takes a deep breath.

"Ok, I'll take it...NO! No, theres no need for a carrier bag, I'll just pop it into this one here. Keep the change."

And with that, the shades go back on and she makes a mad dash towards the exit.

Working at the cash desk is non-stop, just as soon as your done with the last customer in the queue and you allow your cheesy grin to drop, you spot someone else racing in your direction with a basket full of junk. I try not to make eye contact and pretend to be doing something.
I must say, I've developed quite a talent for looking as though I'm extremely busy with stuff. For example, there is the art of paper shuffling. I fiddle about with last months price sheets or whatever, rustling and such, with a slight frown. Thus, I appear to be extremely focused on very important staff paperwork, and they silently watch in awe at my organisational skills.
Then there is stacking the empty shopping baskets, and clearing away stock. Frantic moving about with flustered huffing and puffing tends to scare the customer and they instantly shrink back.

Of course, you always encounter some smart alec who marches right up to the cash desk and suddenly decides that they have a very bad cough, and I'm therefore compelled to do my job. From then on, to my delight, the line of sweaty blotchiness seems to grow by the millisecond.
I take a deep breath, smile etched back onto my face and:

"First down here please!"