Mercadona checkout

Since when did checkout ladies become sales assistants? That’s what seems to be happening lately at my local Mercadona, and at probably everyone else’s, I suppose.

I’ve been offered shrink-wrapped half-melons, two loaves for the price of one, a fold-up makeup bag for the beach – that was before the young girl looked up as saw I was a chap with a skin that was well past moisturiser and lip seal, although one little darling insisted on outlining the benefits of a new skin softening and anti-aging soap that was on offer. I’m sixty years old with a face like a washboard. I admired her persistence, but I didn’t think I’d be a perfect test case. I saw her a couple of weeks later and said I’d bought a bar and did she think it had made any difference?

I’ve just got back from the milk and bread run, and the checkout offers seem to have been continuing in personal care and hygiene mode. Dora, or so her name tag called her, asked me if I’d like some shower gel for only one euro, and opened the cap for me to appreciate the delectable aroma. I lost my sense of smell about five years ago, and besides, I prefer a bar of soap, so that did no good. Then she asked if I’d like some shampoo for the same bargain price, but even she had to laugh, along with everyone else in the queue, when I just simply pointed at my head. I’m bald as a coot, with only a fine stubble protecting my shiny skull from the suns rays.

©2009 Derek Workman