Twenty-two years and a cake

Today is twenty-two years at SaveRite. I started on a Friday in 2004. It was raining. It is raining.

Customers: 287. Knew it was my anniversary: 1. More on that later.

Head office sent a card. It came in the internal mail with the rota and a leaflet about manual handling. The card says “Congratulations on your 20 years!” Somebody had crossed out the 20 and written 22 in biro. I appreciated that somebody. The card was signed “The SaveRite Family.” I have met the SaveRite Family. They came in once, in 2011, for forty minutes. One of them asked me where the toilets were.

Craig got me a cake. I’ll be fair to Craig. He went to the bakery aisle on his break and bought a Victoria sponge with a yellow sticker on it, reduced to $2.10, and brought it to the break room with a candle he’d found in a drawer. The candle was a number 7. He said they didn’t have a 22. He sang. Kayleigh sang. Even the security guard, Tony, who I’ve never heard say more than six words, sang. It was not good singing. It was all right.

Things that have changed in twenty-two years:

• The scanner. Three times.
• The uniform. Five times. The current one is a polo shirt in a color head office calls “fresh lime.” It is not lime. It is the color of being unwell.
• The self-checkouts. Eight of them now. Down to four tills from eleven.
• Me, a bit. My knees, a lot.

Things that have not changed: the seven questions. Do you have a bag. Is this on offer. Can I pay with this. Where are the eggs. Do you have any more of these at the back. Is it always this busy. Are you having a good day.

At 3:40 Mr. Haddad came through. Milk, two tins of soup, one lemon. And a small card. He said, “Twenty-two years today, Beverly.” I asked how he knew. He said, “You told me. In 2004. You said it was your first day and you were nervous.” I had not remembered that. He had.

I nearly said something. I nearly said a swear, actually, the good kind, the surprised kind. I said, “Well, shit, Mr. Haddad.” He laughed. Twenty-two years and that’s the first time I’ve sworn at the till.

Feet: bad. Back: middling. Cashed up exactly. Took the rest of the cake home.