Paul
Tanner
Paul
Tanner has been earning minimum wage, and writing about it, for too long. He’s
had 10 collections in as many years, but they must be xxxx, otherwise he
wouldn’t still be stacking shelves, would he, eh? Check out @vote_tanner on
Instagram for more. Or don’t. Uh huh.
her
stuff
she
watches you scan and pack
her
stuff.
well?
she says.
well
what? you ask.
aren’t
you going to apologise? she wants to know.
for
what? you ask.
for
keeping me waiting in this queue all this time! she says.
why
doesn’t she demand apologies
from
all the complaining customers
she
was stuck behind?
in
fact
why
doesn’t SHE apologise to YOU
for
making the queue you serve longer?
then
again, you are sorry to be serving her,
you
really are
so
you tell her in all sincerity:
I’m
sorry
but
she won’t believe you:
can
I speak to your superior, please? she smiles ominously
and
you ring your help bell
and
the rest of the queue groans
as
you carry on
scanning
and packing
her
stuff.
death
bed story time
boomers:
literally try to get
every shop worker
that’s ever served them
fired
also
boomers: blame what understaffed staff
are left
for being lazy millennials
and
then boomers: blame the rise
of self-service
machines
on technology-dependant Gen Z
and
then: pay anyone younger than them
for online sex
and
finally: blame anyone and everyone
who came after them
for the death of
the high street
society
and morals
before:
living, evidently, forever.
or maybe it just feels like it.
a
more vicious person than I
would
pray that that lot snuff it
before
they have a chance to mess up Generation Alpha,
but
we needn’t worry:
no
one I know can afford or want kids
for
some reason.
enforced
poetry
we
were standing around
the
back of the shop
having
a smoke.
he
asked me:
were
you here when that guy called me a fat bearded prick?
no,
I said.
this
guy called me a fat bearded prick, he said.
oh?
yeah.
threatened to punch me, and all.
sez
to me: you wanna punch, do you,
you
fat bearded prick?
why?
couldn’t
give him a refund.
oh,
I shrugged. of course
and
if the sun was out
we
would have been standing
in
the shadow of the shop.
the
sun wasn’t out,
but
we were still standing
in
the shop’s shadow,
you
know?
if
you’ll allow me to force poetics upon this scene, like.
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