Chameleon Magazine

Ever get so fed up with self-service checkouts that you wonder whether the best way to protest is simply to become the world’s worst employee?

After all, that’s what you are now.

You walked into the supermarket intending to buy a loaf of bread and a pint of milk.

Five minutes later you’ve somehow been promoted to cashier, stock handler, security officer, technical support, emergency fire marshal, and part-time in-store DJ responsible for maintaining aisle morale, all without so much as an interview.

No contract.

No induction.

No pension.

Not even a staff discount.

The machine barks instructions at you every thirty seconds.

“Unexpected item in the bagging area.”

No, that’s not an unexpected item.

That’s my shopping.

I’m fairly confident that’s why I’ve come here.

Then a flashing light appears, summoning the only member of staff within a three-mile radius, who arrives looking as though you’ve personally crashed the entire supermarket’s computer system by attempting to buy a cucumber.

You scan.

You bag.

You weigh.

You identify loose vegetables from grainy photographs that look as though they were taken in 1997.

You verify your age.

You even reassure the machine that you’ve placed your shopping in the bagging area, despite the fact it has been watching you do exactly that.

And what do you receive for all this unpaid labour?

Absolutely nothing.

No hourly wage.

No overtime.

No employee of the month certificate.

Not even a complimentary biscuit.

The loyalty card is perhaps the funniest part of the whole experience.

“Collect points!”

Excuse me…

I’ve just covered someone’s lunch break.

Surely I’ve earned enough points to qualify for a staff Christmas party.

Perhaps supermarkets have missed a trick.

If customers are expected to do the cashier’s job, at least lean into it.

Issue us name badges.

Provide annual appraisals.

Offer paid holidays after every thousand items scanned.

And if the checkout proudly announces, “Thank you for shopping with us,” it should probably add:

“…and thank you for covering Karen’s shift this afternoon.”

Until then, I’ll keep clocking in every time I buy milk—quietly perfecting my role as the world’s worst employee.