The Mother

It was my mothers proudest moment the day I got hired at Waitrose. The discount, the uniform, the pleasure of being able to say her daughter is a partner of Waitrose and John Lewis was too much for her to bare. My mother is also someone who needs to have the last say in the in every sort of matter, debate or argument.

So when I declared I found working on the till a mundane and mind numbing task she went mental. Told me that every job was boring, and I would just have to ''fucking get used to it''. At which point I pointed out there must be jobs out there which are slightly more interesting and less repetitive than asking the same fucking ''do you need extra bags?'', ''doing any thing nice this weekend?'' and ''would you like cash back?'' to every customer I see for 8 hours each Saturday.

Whilst I admit: yes, yes I am lucky to have a job - especially one which pays so well. However, she can fucking sit on that till, get the back ache, get the tired arm, the twitching smile, the sarcastic glare in the eye, whilst your compassion for humanity erodes and then tell me how ''fantastic'' and ''wonderful'' the job is.

Everyone bitches about their job. Though no one quite understands the pain of the checkout girl.