A week in the life of Adam Cotter: Monday

Packets of fags. Mars Bars. Cans of juice. Sandwiches. Wilted flowers. Oh, we've got some great stuff, let me tell you.

The best bit is when someone's trying to make a sly purchase, like some condoms or porn. You can see them a mile off, trying to act natural. Actually, the really best bit is when the porn-buyer is someone you knew from school, and they don't know it till they're handing over the cash. "Oh, hiya Steve," you say as it dawns on them, "how's it going, mate? Still at your mum's? Just the Razzle, is it?"

Sometimes you even sell a map or some oil, just like it was the 1950s. Mad.

And then there's all the stuff that's meant to just catch your eye and shout "BUY ME!" It's like that Welsh guy - I forget his name - anyway, like he says: "a torch with the power of a million candles!" You know you don't need it, the ones selling it know you don't need it, but how can you resist?

Oh, and did I mention we sell petrol as well?

Far as I'm concerned, working behind the counter does two things. First, it pays the bills - just. Second, when we're not rushed off our feet, I can watch DVDs.

Like they say, you can't beat job satisfaction.



Story starts here.