They said I was retarded, and so I didn't finish school. So I am here, swiping packets for strangers at the supermarket checkout.
But they are not strangers. I know each of them very well. I remember every item they ever bought. I know who has eggs for breakfast and who has milk. I know who likes to go fishing, who grows their own herbs, who has a gas range, who cheats on their partner, who likes theatre. I just see it. It's obvious.
At the end of the day I go restock the shelves. I know exactly how many of each item needs replenishing. None of these people has any lives worth bothering with. I know who will buy what tomorrow, based on what they bought in their three or four last visits. It's all so predictable. I am bored and sick of life. I arrange the cans so that the smug posh woman will get the expired foie gras.
I don't know their names. I never spoke to them, save once, when I told a young man: you will get cancer. Six weeks later, a woman started doing his shopping. I stare at the screen below the counter. It is relaying information about the other checkout lanes. The old man over there watched the golf last night. He thinks himself sophisticated. So what? What meaning does he imagine his life has? I tried learning bricklaying. But I'm too retarded.