Ode to the Spar

Ode to the Spar

I can’t believe I have only four days left at work – SUMMER, Y U PASS SO QUICK?! – and despite sometimes wanting to blow my brains out just so I can leave early, I will actually miss the shop. And I’m GUTTED I won’t be around for the referendum as I suspect things will really heat up. Better Together handed in another leaflet the other day saying that if anyone was undecided about their vote, then he would be delighted to receive them for a cup of coffee and chat/brainwash. Everyone’s really taken to the leaflet, but I fear that this has nothing to do with politics, but rather with the fact that he is definitely the richest man in the village and so everyone just wants to see his house. I’ve seen it (babysitting his grandchildren) and it’s IMMENSE, although I spent the whole evening in fear that I would accidentally burn it down and stain the cream carpet in the process.

AND SO. Since I’ll be leaving soon and I really am hopeful that I will not return to work there again (this will NEVER happen), I thought I would write a slightly more positive blog about all the things I’ll miss. Here goes…

1) The new owners who, despite their over sharing of bowel movements, are lovely people and I really hope everything works out for them and that they somehow manage to make a profit on the entire stock of a closed down gift shop that they have just bought (it’s horrific).

2)The other staff who have, over the years, become like a second family, always making sure I eat well and am wearing enough clothes.

3) The mop. It’s massive and just GETS THE JOB DONE.

4) The hoover. I’ve never seen anything suck like this thing does.

5) The ten o’ clock tea break.

6) Lunchtime.

8) The three o’ clock tea break.

9) Closing time and closing on time.

10) Cashing-up and everything is SPOT ON. This feeling is truly orgasmic. Truly.

11) Getting called a “clever girl” for having the customers paper/fags/medication/milk on the desk before they ask for it. I should probably find this patronising, but I don’t. I’m savouring it all up before I return to university and the sweaty palms and dry mouth that come with the realisation that everybody in the room is far, far cleverer than myself.

12) Some customers.

13) The free samples of food (these are actually meant for the customers, but if the owners insist on putting lime and black pepper kettle chips right under my nose, then I WILL eat them).

There. I could definitely go on, but I’ve decided to finish on number thirteen as I’m trying to face the fear I have of this number head on. YOU’LL NEVER DEFEAT ME NUMBER 13. Aaaaand as I was writing, I just remembered that I agreed to work in the Spar over Christmas. So really this whole tribute/ode thing has been a bit melodramatic.

Oh well.

Rebellion, Feminism, and Mackerel Pâté

Rebellion, Feminism, and Mackerel Pâté


Ok, there may or may not be a photo above this sentence. They (THEEEEEY) have gone and changed things (after I’d just got used to them) and now I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Although, even if you can see the photo, you probably don’t know what it is. Again, it has nothing to do with what I’m going to write about, but like I said yesterday, I miss putting up photos. They make the post look nice as well, although this is a photo of mackerel pâté and so I’m not 100% certain that I’ve achieved my aesthetic desire with this particular image. It was, however, very tasty. My step-mum (whose cooking is very questionable) made it and so I was a little surprised. She’s actually become a very good cook, but I remember what she used to feed us back in the day (things like egg trifles) and so I can’t help but feel a bolt of fear whenever she says the dreaded words, “I’ll make dinner tonight”.


Anyway, the shop was relatively quiet yesterday. There was another Dickens Cider joke; another affronted female, but since the shop is no longer a space of free speech and independent views, no one knows where feminism stands. These really are turbulent times.

Yesterday was quite a turbulent shift, actually. My shift started at four, which I hate. At that time, the staff have already established their roles and unless you take over from someone, then you’re sort of…out of the loop. I just wandered around for an hour, rustling things so it looked like I was doing something, but there really wasn’t anything for me to do and everyone knew that, but the pretence goes on. It wasn’t long, however, until the other staff left and the new owners tend to leave me alone a lot, which is AWESOME. I count down the minutes until it’s time for their dinner, dreaming of all the things I’ll get up to when they’re gone. I’ll go on my phone, sit down for a bit, put my feet up, eat some chocolate, read a magazine…my plans are endless, but when they do finally leave, I can’t bring myself to carry any of them out. I just work. The most rebellious thing I did yesterday was eat a bag of crisps while I filed accounts, which I would be allowed to do ANYWAY.

Therefore, my aim for this evening is to establish where exactly feminism stands and to become a significantly more rebellious individual.


Spar-ing it Up

Spar-ing it Up


So after my lovely travels to Greece, the west coast of Scotland, and Spain; I have now returned to my home village and the job that I have had for the past six years on and off: THE SPAR. I can’t believe I’m working there again – it’s like a drug and I’m reluctantly going back for more. Sometimes I get a bit embarrassed when people come in and go “Oh, you’re back again?” and I think that they’re thinking, So THIS is how you spend our taxes? You get a job that you had BEFORE uni? Why don’t you put that place to good use and get a nice internship somewhere…but I’m sure that’s me just being paranoid – they really, probably, don’t give a shit.

To those who follow my blog (if you give a shit): DON’T FEAR. There are just as many funny stories to come from the Spar as there are abroad and to be honest, the ones from the Spar are probably funnier, although I would laugh at a hole in a biscuit so I’ll let you be the judge of that. If, after the tenth blog about another dropped jar of Lloyd Grossman’s Chicken Korma, you wish to de-follow, feel free.

I won’t cry.

But already there’s a wee scandal afoot. One day, a customer came in to drop by Better Together leaflets, but when, the next day, he came to check that they were still there, they were GONE. DUN DUN DUN. Turns out, it was a member of staff that had hidden them, in a torrent of rage no doubt. DRAMA. But it doesn’t stop there. Another customer, on seeing the Better Together leaflets, handed in her own ones that supported the YES! campaign and you know what happened? Someone hid them! I have my suspicions that it was the Better Together customer, but I can’t be certain. I shall employ my detective skills today and see what I can find out. The owners are on the verge of declaring the Spar a neutral, free-of-politics, zone (we can’t have that, can we? The social hub of the community?) so something must be done!

Yeah, ok, go ahead and de-follow.