On Sharks and Mincer

I thought I'd write a little bit about my writing process of Sharks and Mincer. During my gap year I experienced the world of retail work for the first time. I never really stopped to think about how boring it must be sitting at a till all day long. I guess I was a little too concerned about getting my grades for University. I didn't get into my first choice Uni so had to resit one of my subjects in January. A very depressing day was results day for me... I'd be getting As and A*s the whole year and just didn't manage it on the day, for whatever reason. I suspect that it's because I revised a bit too much as the night before my French oral exam I tried to look over some verbs and was hit by a wave of dizziness that made me nearly sick the next day. I once threw up all over my Year One teacher and was glad that I didn't repeat that beautiful scene with my oral examiner. Anyway, so resitting a subject that I felt I'd already squeezed every last inch of my bitter effort into studying for was not the most positive start to the gap year that I had planned to take but I still managed to juggle a job in a supermarket (the clue's in the title) and study again for my exam.

I say it wasn't the most positive, but really I was actually quite content. This was time on my hands to do whatever I pleased, with no school and no rules apart from the ones I set myself. I was getting a taste of the adult world and I was excited. When I got the job I was really happy with myself. Someone thought I was capable enough to work for them, to be paid money! I listened ardently to everything that they taught us and wore my uniform proudly, ready to do everything they asked of me. I was a little shocked that we weren't allowed to drink water or go to the toilet but I quite liked talking to customers and working the till, though I felt a little shy about taking money from them at first. It seemed to me so much like the game of shops that I used to play when I was little. It seemed almost comical, a role play from one of my French or Spanish classes, not a real and utterly ordinary situation that we submit to every day. I enjoyed it, all in all, however. Cynicism isn't the way I approach things. For me it grew over a long period of time and like a canker in a rose I gradually began to loathe it (Not to draw any comparisons between myself and a flower as well renowned for its beauty as a rose, I've already got the whole daisy thing going as it is for flip's sake! Really stretching the flower theme too far, I know, quite sad really). It seemed ridiculous to me that my colleague felt that she had to resign because the powers that be refused to let her go to the toilet. The constant dehydration and a thirst never quenched by the pitiful breaks we were given really withered away my enthusiasm (last flower reference I promise!)

Then I went travelling around the world for a blissful two months and saw San Francisco, New Zealand, Australia and Hong Kong, spending the money I made from all of those painful hours. It was not until I returned to reality and started working again that I realised how poorly we were treated. It wasn't until the second time round, after I had seen something of paradise, that the rude customers and the patronising managers started to get to me. My smile began to feel fake and fixed like a mannequin's and I became an obsessive clock-watcher, counting down the minutes. Of course, some days were good, some were not so good. I realised after a while that it depended a lot on what kind of mood I was in. I tried not to be moody because then the time would go slower and things would be worse. No one noticed if I was anyway. I was very good at hiding the grump. I worked by a system of two hours. If I started before the customers arrived, that hour or so wouldn't count because stacking shelves and chatting to colleagues didn't count as the real work. Then, the first two hours, go, go, go. I hoped for a change in activity. Sometimes there was, sometimes there wasn't. If there wasn't, well, only another hour until a break! Then after the break, two hours, go, go, go, then a break (as late as possible) and a waste check to finish off the day. All very exciting stuff, I'm sure.

It didn't occur to me to write down all that I had experienced until I started working in the Cafe. Perhaps my mind had a moment or so to sit back and enjoy things because time went quicker and there was much less clock-watching. One day I sat down and just started writing about it all. I learnt a lot about people on that job and saw much to be laughed at, much to be criticised. I'll say now that the characters are fictional in this story but it's all based on my experiences. Although it's a bit different in that it doesn't follow the usual conventions of standard grammatical prose, I went for the stream of consciousness effect with the hope that it creates a sense of the fluster and mindlessness of the job itself. They say that writer's lie to give more truths. I hope this does something of the sort.

Thanks for reading,
Daisy