Check Out Girl Superstar

If the check-out girl labelled Joanne can present a bargain smile
wearing a brown sack uniform, I should at least try. I did. I smiled, but
I lacked conviction, managing to stay indifferent as she coquettishly

blip

slid her fingers up and down my tin of spaghetti hoops; twice.
The pink tip of her tongue tasting pale lipstick with I want some
phone sex ad overtones. Then she said: Do you watch Big Brother?

blip

I love Big Brother, me. It’s my ambition to be in the House
as she flights my items over the scanner, I try and imagine
who in their right mind would turn their telly on to watch

blip blip

Joanne eating her spaghetti hoops, and I think I upset her
when I said Big Brother’s blip and that I never watch it.
She gave me a very odd look. As if I was incomplete.

blip blip

Then for some inexplicable reason the blip, that annoying
electronic grunt like a bored adolescent thanks, just shut up,
not even a whatever. So she wiped the scanner with her sleeve,

but still no blip and then she says: I’ve an X-Factor audition
to go to next month. I can’t really sing but it’ll be a laugh.

More Y than X-Factor I thought. Keen to get home I broke

the ensuing awkward silence by asking her if she should buzz
for assistance. No need she replied, put out that I’d shown no interest
in her telly life, the supervisors will be watching us on CCTV.

 

 

©2008 P.A.Levy
First published by No Teeth 2009 (magazine closed)