31 October | Sketchmart

Around the corner from my flat is a small 24-hour grocery/off-license liquor store that the students have dubbed the Sketch Mart, which I think is completely appropriate. It stocks just about everything, from wine and 40 oz beers to frozen pizzas, dish soap, fresh baguettes, Oreos, and 20 pound sacks of rice. There is a large selection of unidentifiable Polish prepackaged meals, a whole aisle of cat food, and every spice under the sun. It’s a strange and wonderful place. There is always one person behind the counter, plus three or four other young men standing in the doorway. These same five men are always there, and they just seem to rotate who is working and who gets to smoke cigarettes and block the entrance.

A few nights ago, I was at the counter paying for a 39p package of ramen noodles, and I handed to cashier a £5 note after checking to see that I didn’t have enough change on me. He looked at the £5 note, looked up at me, and said loudly, “You’re serious? You are going to pay for noodles that cost 39p with this?” I thought he was joking at first, but then I read the utter disgust in his face at having to make change for such a small purchase. I told him I didn’t have anything smaller, and he shook his head, threw my change across the counter, and said, “next!” I felt picked on and a little humiliated and darted out of the store. I hadn’t realized that making change was such a strenuous, time-consuming request.

So tonight I was really craving a cherry coke, and I knew they would have it down there. I checked my wallet before I left, and I had two choices: 60p in change or a £20 bill. I almost didn’t go, because what if the soda was more than 60p? I then realized that this was ridiculous, that I wanted a damn drink and the lazy jerk could just make change if he had to. To my relief, it was exactly 60p, and I got in line. The same cashier was working. As the customer in front of me handed him a £2 coin, the cashier said, “No. Let me see what change you have.” He actually made the man hold out his handful of coins so that he would be forced, if possible, to pay with exact change! The customer got the same sigh and look of disgust that I had gotten once the cashier had determined that the £2 would have to do. I felt so much better! The cashier had not just picked on me—he was just a neurotic Soup Nazi about exact change and probably did this to everyone.