Plaint of the Supermarket Cashier

Iceberg lettuce and deep pan pizza
Get boring after a while,
And cola and bleach and peaches and bread ...
Must offer to pack and smile
Whether I'm happy and energetic
Or whether I'm fit to drop -
Surely I'm made for something better
Than working in a shop?
Oh, I'm only here to finance my addiction-
I'd rather be home and writing fiction.

Multipacks of beer are heavy
(Is this lad really of age?)
My back and arms and shoulders ache.
Some fellow's in a rage,
For he's been queuing since half-past one.
This woman's forgotten her PIN
And the kids behind are bored and fight
And make a terrible din.
Oh, I'm only here to finance my addiction.
I'll put these characters in my fiction.

The big one's putting stuff on the belt
And a bottle of spice falls off.
Nobody's come to sweep up the mess
And the smell of it makes me cough.
Oh, I try to make a good impression,
But I'm only here to finance my obsession.

One day I'll be 65 years old
And they'll buy me a big bouquet
And I'll pack my bag and I'll say goodbye,
And the boss will cry, "Please stay!"
And the old and the young and the kind and the bad
Will chorus as one, "We'll miss you!"
I'll smile with a show of modesty
As they shed big tears in their tissue.
Then I'll rush home and indulge my addiction
And spend the rest of my life on fiction.