The Deli Clerk

One of my earliest memories is walking to the Super Value on Broadway and Trutch for the “big” shop. Sure there was a Safeway closer to our house but it was a small dingy affair compared to this brightly lit beacon of food delight. Perhaps it was the two looming arches that housed this most modern of shops, or then again, maybe it was its proximity to Peter’s Ice Cream parlour—a sure stop on the way home—but in my mind Super Value was second best only to the Woodward’s food floor, a whole two bus rides away. We were weekly shoppers at Super Value until Safeway picked up its skirts and landed right across the street from our house. Bigger and brighter, Super Value soon lost its shine and Safeway (and the creampuff bakery beside it) became our new destination. It was there that my secret desire to be a cashier grabbed hold of my heart.

The following is an excerpt from the story “On Being a Deli Clerk” in Notes from the Bottom of the Box: The Search for Identity by a Modern-Day Renaissance Woman. 

“I should have known the [supermarket]would not be ideal, but I applied for two reasons: one, because they were known to pay union wages and two, because of an age-old girl crush on a supermarket cashier.  Growing up, I lived across the street from the same food store, albeit in a different neighbourhood. This was way before scanners and product codes and many years before self-service checkouts. This was the glamorous era of touch-type cashiers. These women—and they were all women back then—handled the manual key board with incredible dexterity and speed, their nametags proudly proclaiming their prowess: “touch type cashier!” I hero-worshipped these mistresses of the register with their ability to run a constant commentary while adroitly pushing each tab—and push they did, no electric machines back then—with nary a mistake. Verne was my favourite: a tall and shapely, full-figured woman with rhinestone-studded horn rims and Ethel Merman perm. She occasionally hired me as a babysitter, but most importantly, she was the first to get her accreditation as a touch typist. Verne was my hero. 

Walking into this store to apply for a job was a bit like walking down memory lane.  Momentarily lost in my girlhood fantasy, I think I was half hoping to see Verne still pegging away at a till. My reverie lasted all of five minutes. The manager took a quick look at my resume and hired me on the spot. The first wounding shot was when he told me I would be working in the deli; the second was when he told me the wage. Minimum? I squeaked with fast-fading optimism. Yep, minimum, he monotoned back, squashing the last of my sopranic hopes. I knew then I should have walked away. I should have thanked him for his time and bade him adieu. But financial desperation overruled my heart-filled dread —I signed on the dotted line.”

Stay tuned for more weekly excerpts from Notes from the Bottom of the Box. If you like this blog, please like me on the MDRW Facepage.  Thanks for the support!