Rita Ora and The Primark Redemption
Get Busy Counting or Get Busy Doing The Opposite to Counting
Every person has their breaking point
I’d heard stories about this place. I'd heard the stories, but I never thought I’d see the inside of it for myself. `
T-shirts sprawled out on table tops, dresses crammed onto railings, overflowing. Make-up and accessories are chaotically thrown around the place. To the untrained eye, this is not the way a shop should look or the way a shop should operate. But all of this is done intentionally.
Penney’s is less of a shop and more of a set from an 80s post-apocalyptic film. A visceral dread hits you as you walk past security and into the dystopian landscape. People of all ages, shapes and sizes scramble around the shop floor, desperate to get in and out as quickly as possible. Before it’s too late.
Every time we leave we say we will never return. We will work hard to fight the addiction, we will do better.
But sometimes it’s easier to do the time.
There were signs up around the shop telling us that they have gone cruelty-free now and also that their clothes are made of some sort of recycling.
‘These t-shirts are made 100% from recycled bottles.’ sounds like it should be a brag and other companies might use that phrase to sound like they are doing their best to be sustainable. But when Penney’s says it, it sounds more like a confession.
Like it’s part of the small print. ‘Er, by the way, guys before you purchase this €2 t-shirt, we need to let you know it was made this morning by a lad glueing the Coca-Cola bottles together from out of the Deposit return scheme bins. And it feels like it.’
It’s a scary place and as much as it makes me shudder with sadness that such a place exists, I don’t judge anyone who shops there or works there and I hope you don’t judge me for shopping or working there. Life is busy, hard and expensive.
There's Not A Day Goes By I Don't Feel Regret.
I was dressed all in black. All my colleagues were dressed completely in black too. We weren’t working for Penney’s themself but we were working for a ‘stock-taking company’ hired by Penney’s to count their stock.
I cautiously stumbled over to a member of Penny’s staff and let out a whimpering ‘Excuse me…’
(For any UK readers, Penney’s is Primark and Primark is Penney’s. They are the same thing.)
I let the staff member know I was there for the stock take and the member of staff called over their manager. The manager was a man with a headset on. He looked miserable and although I don’t think it was my fault, it’s unclear.
“Hi, How’s it going? Do you know how I get to the staffroom?” I asked
“Why do you need the staffroom?” He answered my question with a question.
“Don’t I need to drop my stuff off in the staffroom?” I answered his question to my question with a question. It was a power move on my part and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
“No, you put your stuff in the canteen.” He informed me
I smile.
“Okay, thanks and how do I get to the canteen?” I asked
He started walking and I followed him. We didn’t swap weather talk or discuss how busy it was. We didn’t share anecdotes or jokes. We didn’t laugh or dance or skip or jump. We just walked. I walked behind him as we bobbed and weaved through the public on the shop floor until we’d made it into the stockroom.
He told me the code for the door and I remembered it up until the time I actually needed it, then the numbers sunk into that part of my brain where all the other forgotten codes and passwords go.
The canteen was a sea of black clothing. Everyone is in their uniform. I scan the canteen for a friendly face. No luck. I scan again. A few smiles here and there but no one was offering any sort of instruction or guidance. You had to learn the ropes yourself in a place like this.
40 to 50 people are all sat in their cliques. In their gangs. A table of middle-aged Ukrainian women, a group of students from India, a table of Irish people in a range of ages, and a table of people from various places and backgrounds who were doing their bit to bring the world together. Who would let me join their gang? Who would be my protection? Did I need to go up to someone and break their nose to show I’m not to be messed with?
I tried some of my best moves and conversational starters with some people who had ventured into the kitchen for some boiling water and instant coffee.
I show them that when I bend my fingers they look the same backwards as they do forwards because I can bend my fingers backwards almost as much as I can bend them forward. This is a sign of being hypermobile and although it looks kinda disgusting it’s an interesting thing about me wouldn’t you agree?
There wasn’t much agreement in the air. Maybe a hint of sympathy but agreement was not there.
Another man struts into the kitchen boasting about only having 2 hours of sleep in 48 hours and people were falling over themselves with amazement and fascination.
I can carry anything up to the size of a watermelon on the back of my hand comfortably and no one cares. This guy can’t sleep and people act as if he’d just turned bread into cake or whatever the miracle Jesus did.
There is a ‘wellness’ section of the canteen in the corner where people can go sit and be silent and I guess love yourself? (Not the 90s ‘love yourself’ meaning ‘masturbation’ but the 2020’s left-wing grifter, musician meaning of love yourself.) The problem with the wellness section of the canteen is that it was directly next to the vending machine and also just right next to the rest of the canteen and there wasn’t any sorta wall or soundproofing so if you were in there trying to love yourself, I’d say it would be difficult.
On the wall hangs a poster of Rita Ora who has a clothing range with Primark. Like a modern-day Krusty, The Clown signing his name to anything for the dollar.
The prison guards (management) roam up and down the hallway tapping their watches. It’s nearly time to start the shift.
A warm place with no memory
On my first night of stock-taking, I met 2 other newbies. We were in this together. If one of us showed signs of breaking, we’d need to pick them up and put them back together.
We worked overnight and the shop was completely closed to the public. The only way out was locked, and we were only allowed out when the shift was over and we were escorted off the premises.
We had a very brief introduction to the job and then we were thrown into the deep end. We were given a scanner and told to go scan like our lives depended on it. The only rule is, don’t make a single mistake or you will be called out in front of everyone in a very unprofessional way.
I won’t go too much into the many different ways of scanning. But I do recommend you research it for yourself. The vast, dense and rewarding world of scanning is something everyone should experience before they get old and/or die.
We spend 4 hours straight scanning and counting, before break. Scanning and counting. Scanning and counting.
No one talks, well actually there was a guy who kept on trying to talk to me. I find chatting very difficult at the best of times but then adding ‘counting’ to that seemed impossible. So I just listened. I politely laughed when it felt right to and I agreed with everything he said. I later learnt he was saying some pretty weird things that I didn’t agree with at all, but it was too late now. He had a way of saying the most horrible and inaccurate things in a lovely and assured way.
As well as his bad opinions, he did give me some tips and tricks on how to survive in this place.
He tells me I shouldn’t show any weakness and to always carry my own pen. Pens are like currency in here. Sell them for favours and snacks at break time.
I don’t mind doing boring jobs. I normally jsut go deep into my memory and think about wholesome times. But that’s impossible to do whilst counting. There was no room for memories at Penney’s.
They Send You Here For Life, And That's Exactly What They Take
On my second day, a man named Richie told me I lost him a bet. He told me he and the other folk always bet on who will come back the next after their first shift. He tells me it’s 50/50. It’s casual work, so people turn up when they want and often they are put off by their first day.
“I’m not like the others,” I say weirdly and Richie walks away from me because it’s not clear enough that I am making a joke and also my joke isn’t really funny enough to be a joke.
Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption.
In the canteen, I offered some of my dried mango slices to the other two newbies. They both accepted. We chatted. They are both studying Master's degrees. 1 Business and 1 marketing. They are intelligent, friendly and curious.
“What are you in for?” They asked me
I explained that I have failed at everything I’ve tried and I can’t seem to catch a break at all. I’ve worked very hard but it has amounted to absolutely nothing and I’m running out of time. I have lost and am losing at this game of life, I am full of regret, guilt and self-loathing and the only reason I don’t go hide away under a bridge for the rest of my days is because I’m very lucky to have people in my life who I love and love me.
They both look at me with a new sense of confusion and fear.
As I was the eldest of the newbies I think they originally saw me as a Father figure or an older brother but those titles have now been stripped from me and it’s now the weird guy who sometimes says funny things but is also depressing to be around.
Anyway, we share the rest of the dried mango slices and enjoy the rest of our break in silence.
I Have To Remind Myself That Some Birds Aren't Meant To Be Caged.
Our break was over and I wondered if I should leave.
Try to escape.
All the doors were locked. We were outside of opening hours. We were closed in and the only way out was by asking the Penney’s manager to open the fire escape and I don’t think I can take another back and forth of answering questions with questions like we are taking part in a ‘Who’s Line is it anyway?’ task.
The Rita Ora poster hung on the wall.
Our break was over.
The management came storming into the canteen.
“Where is he?” They shouted
All the other staff had gone back to the shop floor to start counting again. The management flipped tables and threw chairs across the canteen.
“Where is he?” They asked (still shouting)
They quietly and timidly checked the wellness corner before going back into full rage checking the rest of the room. They opened cupboards and emptied drawers.
Then, after a few minutes of hunting, they paused and unison looked over to the Rita Ora poster. They looked at each other and slowly shook their heads in disbelief.
They ripped the poster down from the wall.
A hole.
A hole big enough for a human to crawl through.
They all looked shocked.
Cut shot to me on my knees in the Tallaght shopping centre car park. As the rain came flying down, I tasted it. I let it wash over me and my black uniform began to melt in the rain.
I was free. I guess some birds just aren’t meant to be caged I say to myself in a very natural and realistic way, then I head to my car. The car park barrier was down, so I drove up to the barrier really fast, (like 100KPH) and then I suddenly slammed on the brakes before I got to the barrier. The car did a front flip over the barrier, as I was in the air flipping I lit up a cigarette and took my first drag as the car landed on the other side of the barrier. A group of kids were watching me from the side of the road with their mouths open. They were very impressed by me.
I rolled down my window, put some sunglasses on (over my glasses because I don’t have those sunglasses that are glasses too) and I said ‘Stay in school kids and do your dreams.’ They all gasped in amazement. I drove away doing a tailspin (is that a car move?) and I did a hand brake turn around the corner before driving off into the Sunrise.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The beeping of a scanner.
The noise of the scanner brings me back to reality.
I hadn’t escaped.
I hadn’t escaped at all.
My head is stuffed deep into the row of Nirvana T-shirts trying to find the barcodes to scan and I think about Kurt Cobain and how utterly mental it would be if he could see T-shirts of his band being sold in a shop like Primark. I guess he’d be turning in his grave or maybe not.
Nothing matters.
Nothing matters apart from money.
That’s all that matters now, isn’t it? Just money. We say other things matter and other things are more important but they’re not, are they? It’s just money. Money is all that matters now, to everyone.
Okay, thanks so much for reading, see ya next week.
I will be sharing the findings of my 2-month long undercover investigation into life as a TikTokker.
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Thanks
Thom Xxx