In an unexpected turn of events, the-supermarket-which-must-not-be-named did not beg me on all fours to return at once. In absolute fairness, I have not phoned them since two weeks before the end of my exams and the ever forgetful Amanda probably, well, forgot that I rang. I have, however, been on the hunt for jobs at other places since I got back home. I have applied for an admin job and a customer service phone-girl job and am waiting on the results of those before I bite the bullet and phone my favourite-shop-ever, again.

I am quite hoping to get the customer service phone-girl job actually. It is for a catalogue. The lovely slightly interfering lady up the road overheard my mother talking to my next door neighbour about how I still haven't got a job yet (it is quite irritating my mother you see, you would think I owed her money or something. That wasn't sarcasm by the way, I actually don't, but nontheless today she has been having me clean the bathroom, unload the dishwasher, and weed the garden despite my terrible phobia of wasps. NSPCC ahoy!) and then, interfering yet lovely lady said that the catalogue company she works for are looking for staff. On the phones. I was under the impression this would just involve, you know, order taking but apparently it is also "sales". Oh yippee, cold calling, my FAVE. If I get the job, I have told my dad to expect regular calls asking if he would like to purchase anything. And he isn't allowed to reply with "NO I BLOODY WELL DON'T, STOP RINGING ME", either.

Not to jump the gun, though. Knowing my luck, I will end up not getting either of my nice, sit-down-on-a-chair-and-avoid-face-to-face-encounters-with-the-public jobs, and end up being forced kicking and screaming back to TSTMNBN. If they'll even have me. God, imagine if I'm unemployable. How awful!

Watch this space.....my blog title may even have to be amended slightly. Well, this is what I am hoping, anyway.

that my supermarket-that-must-not-be-named home branch are not taking us kids back for the Easter break, as most of their Uni students have not gone home for Easter. Which is slightly annoying but at the same time, I'd quite like to spend my Easter holiday doing not-very-much, so it's not so bad I suppose.

As a little supermarket related aside though, some of you may remember a while ago my blogs about a group of bad boiz who used to whizz about outside the store upsetting security and playing "bassline" music really loudly and synchronised like a bad version of a scene from Ali G Indahouse. Anyway, I almost spat orange squash all over the keyboard today when I had a Facebook Event Invite from a boy I knew from 6th form who used to drive around without insurance or indeed a license, so rumour had it. Oh, how I laughed. The event was named "Bradford Cruise", Host: DC and Linzi (shorty) - "meet ouside the-supermarker-that-must-not-be-named, 7pm-11pm".
Sometimes I wonder where these people get their kicks. I suspect from pointless and mildly illegal activities. Ho hum.

Also, I received a text message last week from my friend who had happened upon the supermarket I worked in my first term at Uni. It said:
"Ere, I'm in your shop and I can't find the supernoodles?".
"Aisle twelve?", this was an experiment on my part as surprisingly I really couldn't quite remember.
I never quite established if I was right or not but got a message back saying "I'm on aisle twelve, bloody 'ell!".
I always used to send everyone there if I didn't know where something was, because most things people wanted and couldn't find seemed to be there. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because they were too lazy to walk so far in to the shop unless they definitely knew that what they wanted was absolutely there, so they should distract me from my important work (!) too rather than just checking for themselves. Perhaps. When I got it I did feel a slight pang of longing, but in reality I could not possibly face the trauma of whizzing around with that electric scan-the-entire-shop-in-3-hours machine again. Give me a checkout anyday.

Over and out, for now. 

My last shift on the checkouts at my home store (til summer at least) was only a measly four hour one and so wasn't too bad. Well, I say it wasn't too bad but I got asked to run the non food checkouts AGAIN. I was meant to be just covering the normal team leader's half an hour break  (which became 45 minutes because him and his friends ordered curry and kebabs from a takeaway, not that I minded, it was just quite funny watching a bemused looking bloke carrying two plastic bags full of tasty goodness stood in the entrance looking around until Chris noticed he was there and ran over to pay him. Whilst avoiding being in the eyeline of managers. The hoi polloi of the supermarket as it were are apparently not allowed to order food in, whilst the managers frequently descend on the canteen with bags and bags of curry, pizza, and even fish and chips. Even playing cards, on occasion) but after he came back from his break he had to go and help with something on the grocery checkouts apparently, so I was left mostly running the non food ones on my own for the rest of my shift. I SWEAR, when the normal team leader was there nothing happened, it was perfectly quiet and nobody needed anything, but as SOON as he glided round the corner, everybodies red lights went on and every customer in the shop seemed to want a phone or a sat nav fetching. I even had to lift a WHOLE television by myself. In the mean time, the customer service desk boys were sat behind their desk watching Green Street on a mini portable DVD player that is supposed to be for checking that DVDs that get returned actually are faulty and people aren't just using us as a free movie rental service. During a sacred quiet spell on the checkouts I toddled over to see what they were up to. I asked them and they sort of grunted whilst not lifting their respective fixed gazes from the position of the DVD player.
"It's a good job I like you two, or your asses would be grass!" "Bothered - will you take our rubbish out to the skip please?". Charmed I'm sure. I suppose that is what married life will be like so it is all good practice. Not that I will ever get married the rate I am going. Anyway, my personnel manager is supposed to be e-mailing the brand spanking new store which we discovered today and is literally a stone's throw from where I live at uni. I am not sure they will have any jobs yet but I'm remaining hopeful, especially as there wasn't a soul on the actual person-operated tills when we went in today in search of alcohol and cheese, so we had to use the self serve, which seemingly wanted ID for not just the wine, but also the bacon rashers? The mind boggles. I suppose the news did once say bacon gives you cancer, then again so does breathing these days.

In other news I am quite concerned for my well-being as the people who run this building seem to have turned it in to a permanent icicle, I'm convinced they aren't putting the central heating on. I might go take refuge in the-supermarket-that-must-not-be-named soon.