March 18th, a fairly warm and bright day saw me unknowingly complete my final shift at Clarks for the foreseeable future, thanks to the Coronavirus.
Oblivious of what’s to come, I get myself ready for work sipping my cup of tea, determined to enjoy the day and carry on in a bid to cling on to whatever normality remained.
Just days before, I received an email from the university confirming all face-to-face teaching has been cancelled and measures are yet to be put in place. Little did I know it would be the start of a new ‘normal’.
Despite the weather being on our side, the town centre itself looks and feels cold and empty. Only a handful of people dared to venture out in public as shops remain open and hopeful.
I find myself stood at the entrance of the shop watching the very few people walk through the town, some local residents heading for the seafront with their dogs, various frantic shoppers panic buying everything they could possibly need (and not need) in this time of crisis. Vast amounts of people march past the shop with handfuls of toilet roll, bottles of bleach and disinfectant. Strangely enough, no-one wants to buy shoes.
I arrive at work armed with my own version of essentials: snacks, milk and hand sanitiser. I know what you’re thinking – how did she get her hands on that? It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.
I figure we need to find some way to pass the time and be somewhat productive. I set to with my multi-purpose cleaner and wipe down the till area, moving onto the shelves attempting to focus my mind on something other than the global pandemic we find ourselves in.
A wave of anxiety floods in, diminishing our usual upbeat mood and team morale. I apply some more liquid gold (disinfectant) to my hands and try to shake the feeling off. We find ourselves discussing our pressing concerns in terms of work arrangements, money, children along with the next government statement regarding the impending lockdown. I concluded that this isn’t helping anyone, so I proceed to do what I do best – make everyone a cup of tea.
Sharing our deepest thoughts over our patriotic beverages, it quickly dawns on me: what if the shop actually has to shut and we cannot reopen for months? How on earth will I continue to save for my mortgage?
After I finish screaming internally, I begin to reason with myself and welcome the idea of time off, time to focus on university work, myself and my loved ones. That’s what I try to convince myself anyhow, meanwhile Dream100 reminds us how bleak the situation is and about the fast-increasing death rate.
Despite their best efforts to provide listeners with upbeat music, the fear of the unknown continues to linger.
Although there are a few passers-by, not many were brave enough enter past the threshold and were satisfied looking at our windows we really didn’t have the motivation to clean. In all honesty, there was very little point in luring them in to look at shoes they aren’t interested in trying on, let alone parting with money for. Who can really blame them?
For the remainder of our painstakingly long shift, a total of two female customers bravely enter the front of the shop, unsurprisingly they don’t peruse further than the first display of shoes. We exchange a few words, the same gloomy small talk and eventually scare them off. That, apart from each-other, is the only human interaction we receive all day.
Is this what we can expect 2020 to hold?
Emily Bickers