What it Was Like to be a Supermarket Cashier During the Pandemic

It's a never-ending line of food coming down the conveyer belt. Bodies of people lined up, eagerly and impatiently awaiting it to be their turn. Headcount... time to call for my second cashier. I hear sighs of relief and a stray grumble "finally" as I direct the next customer to lane three to start unloading. Reassuring the crowd that someone is on their way. The line shuffles half its bodies over to lane 3, an angry mob has been averted.

My hands are throbbing and my shoulder is burning a little bit from all the 12 packs of soda and cases of water. "Don't squish my bread!" a customer demands, slightly irritating me because I take great care with the squishable and breakables. We covered that in training and oh, I don't know, something we call basic life.

"Is there any more 80% ground beef in the back?" I am asked for the hundredth time that morning. Followed by predictable grumbles of disbelief and demands on how we could possibly be sold out. Conspiracy theories are thrown at me about why we are waiting on orders stuck in transit because of shipping issues.

I nod in agreement to each one, there is no point to argue or debate the true issues going on. For almost two years now I have watched a nation of shoppers become divided by a virus. I no longer argue, I just keep my distance. It's becoming harder and harder to fake a nice answer no one really wants to hear. Patience has been wearing thin, and the murmur of rising prices soon adds to the irritation of a Nation.

Closing time is always the worst! Short-staffed already, the updated cleaning list is now three pages long to make sure the spread of COVID is minimal, making it a long night. The three of us just bearly make it out before the store turns on the alarms for the night. It takes almost two hours longer now with all the precautions. Lucky me, I work an opening shift in the morning!

One of the greatest advantages of working as an essential worker is discovering the amazing lack of sleep you can function off of. Most would not believe that it is possible to only require 6 hours of home life, including sleep. Many shift managers swear that the best way to make employees happy during this hard time is to schedule a closing and opening shift back-to-back with a work schedule that covers 7 days in a row, Thurs-Sun, Mon-Wed. Blame it on staffing issues... darn that pandemic.

It was the potato chip incident that pushed me over the edge to the point I handed in my two-week notice. For 10.5 months I had endured the everchanging policies and all the cleaning anxieties. I suffered through dry hands from washing them so often and wore a mask every darn day -over my nose. I was diligent at keeping a 6-foot distance from customers, I was determined not to get COVID. Determined to stay healthy. I was prepared for so much, but not prepared for the day a customer would become my breaking point.

Our doors had just opened, the day was new and the inventory was remarkably full compared to the last 18 months. Only a few key items were not in stock, but nothing major, like meats. No big deal, so I thought.

She came in quietly and did not present a threat as she went through the aisles. Her cart was average, she approached my conveyer belt and started slinging items on it, hard. I was concerned for her eggs, her bread, and the gallon of milk that almost burst under the force of being slammed and bounced down the belt.

We got to the end of her items, smooth sailing so far, other than her poor slightly bruised bananas. She made eye contact with me. I already had a grin on my face, I made myself say the 7 words I had grown to hate... " Did you find everything you needed today?" Words have started many wars in this woman's vortex, and apparently, I found the key ones.

Her eyes bore deep into my soul and I felt my life flash before my eyelids as I blinked through her tirade. All I could think about was how I might be attacked by a 5'4 woman in her mid 50's all over wavy potato chips or rather our lack thereof. Her knuckles started turning white as she gripped the handle of the shopping cart that had me locked up against my register area. Was it possible that this woman thought that I had eaten all the bags of chips? Or that I was hiding them from her in some great consperiacy to keep her from her chips?

As her voice echoed down the aisles, I desperately glanced around for other staff. No one was going to rescue me from the chip lady today... I was going to lose it, she was going to lose it... I think we both were gonna cry. But for the grace of God, her husband came wandering in from the parking lot. They left together, loudly discussing the horrible service the store has, because we are lazy, never stock the shelves or order what customers need."

I put my two-week notice in that day. Not because of the 18 months of pandimic anxiety, or the lady, or even how she acted, but because she was right... where the fuck are the wavy potato chips?!