2, 4, 6, 8, 10

7-hour shift. 6 days a week. Morning. Evening. Same old same old. After swimming through the endless questions on the price of an object in a shop where each wall is adorned by posters stating "Everything for 2 Euros", the arguments about the injustice of pricing a bag at 25c when they have millions at home and the priceless list of lame jokes you're left with a built up of frustration and anger and a bigger hatred for this little island and its close-minded people.

And it’s so easy to get lost in the monotony. The same routine, the same rhythm. You fall in a trance. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10. Endless pointless chitchat. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10. Stupid arguments. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10. Unnecessary blaming. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10. Sheepish looks of repent.

The only thing that keeps you from turning brain dead are the few regular customers that keep it interesting.

Like the suicidal old man whose wife is dead and all he wants is to be left alone with her spirit or better yet to reach her wherever she is.

There’s the lady with the horrific laugh that gives me goose bumps. It’s like nails scratching on a surface. If she doesn’t get you out of coma then you’re a hopeless case.

There’s the sweet English woman who used to come and buy 3 bottles of cola and a big bag of crisps. I wonder what happened to her.

There’s the 2-bottles-wine-2-bottles-pepsi guy. He’s quiet and nice. He never looks up as if he’s ashamed of his shopping and the trembling hands from years of drinking wine.

The Adams family. Very pulled together. The women of the family wear their long black hair parted at the sides and let down.

The big-nosed headmaster who comes and buys food, always for one person.

And of course the hooker family. Now to be completely honest I really doubt any of them are hookers but that’s how I see them in my head. The mother and the elder daughter are both blonde. The mother looks like the slutty after-the-happily-ever-after version of Goldilocks. The daughter is more sophisticated. There’s also a second daughter, a brunette. She wears tracksuits, while they wear dressy clothes. She wears her hair up and no makeup while they’re always dolled up. She wears headphones to ignore them; they look at her like she’s a disappointment.

The rest of the work hours pass in a whirlwind of trembling hands, weird money holders, strange relationships and numerous complaints. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10.