So I have this part-time job as a food demonstrator at one of our grocery stores. I work a few days a month, pushing food at unsuspecting shoppers. Many love me, many ignore me completely, some stay for several minutes, some grab food and run.
But there I am, serving whatever sponsors want me to serve, selling ice cream in January and nachos for Easter. It’s not a bad gig if you like people, and I do.
I am a hostess at my own party, serving refreshments and trying to get people to stop and have conversation with me. If nobody stops for my snacks, I am bored nearly senseless – which isn’t that much of a trip for me. Senseless comes easy for some of us.
Being a good pusher requires some skills. I must always be personable, friendly and inviting. It’s my job to make you innocent shoppers stop at my cart to try whatever it is I’m offering, and then buy it. It’s not as if I’m gathering great minds to re-visit the Pythagorean theorem or anything.
Shoppers, when someone says hello to you, be polite and respond. I could be your next best friend for all you know, but when you don’t even lift your head to respond to a polite greeting and a bright cheery smile (they’re paying me for that), well, you’re just plain rude. I promise, the butter will still be in the case after you say hi, and your words make me happy. And really, isn’t life all about my happiness?
When I say hello and you respond with “none for me, thanks” while you pick up your step in case I am planning a physical manoeuvre to shove a tortilla chip down your throat, the first thing I want to yell after you is “Did I ask you if you wanted anything?” Pushers have feelings too, you know. Just acknowledge my desperate plea for company and say hello. That’s all I’m asking.
Besides, my cart is on wheels. Don’t make me chase you.
To be fair, most people are very friendly, because that’s the Carleton Place way. I generally get to visit with many great shoppers every time I am working. The aisle congestion can get pretty bad, but I like to think that it’s worth it. Crowds force you to see what all the fuss is about after you roll your eyes and wonder why people stop in the middle of the aisle (it’s really just to bug you, but you didn’t hear that from me).
Kids are the easiest. I am the bribe master, weaving promises of happy grocery temperaments as long as mom or dad buys whatever I am feeding to their children. Does this work? Let’s just say popsicle day was a huge hit, and nary a scream or tantrum was heard in the store that weekend.
The next time you’re in the grocery store, look for me at the back, near the dairy. Say hello and I will tell all the frozen food employees to get away from the cart to save some for you. At the very least you can make fun of me in my kicky black and yellow uniform. That alone is worth the price of admission, and you have to buy groceries anyway, right?
