Today was my second day as a supermarket sampler type person and I had the dubious honour of handing out samples of cheese. Yes, cheese. A product that I always thought sold itself, but apparently not. My first observation has been to note how much other’s perceptions of you change within a different context. Today I saw two people that I know – one I’ve only met once and the other I’ve met several times – and gave both of them samples of fine French cheese and neither one registered that it was me. Of course, they’re there doing their shopping, minds elsewhere and so on, but like I said, in both cases they sailed over, one with his kids, one on his own, focussing intently on the cheeses and they never even saw me.  I’m pleased about this, to be fair. Standing there with a Camembert in one hand and my pride in the other as I explain defiantly that I’m going to university next month and so have jacked in my career in software and am just doing this part-time etc would just be too awkward. But the incidents really brought home the fact that, for all intents and purposes, in this kind of job you cease to exist. Being invisible isn’t always a bad thing, and I’d certainly like to add it to my growing list of supernatural powers, but it doesn’t half make you feel uncomfortable. You see, I’ve never done a job like this before. I waitressed when I was younger, but when I left university I went straight into an office-based career. I’ve never had to feel marginalised or unimportant, and it certainly is humbling. There are people who work like that, in the service industry, every fucking day. And every fucking day they have to deal with all the smart middle-class shoppers who don’t find them significant enough to even look them in the eye. And joy of joys, if they’re older than 18, they also have to deal with the silent judgements being made about their intelligence, their background, their lives. After just an hour of the patronising airs of the average shopper, it became tempting to hand them their cheese with the words, ‘Of course you can try some. Of course, I can’t eat it as my IQ is 146.’  Christ, no wonder check-out people are sullen.

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But on to more enjoyable past-times. I admit, I have been known to take a free sample in a supermarket and maybe go back for more, if I really like it. You may do it too. You may feel entitled to - after all, it’s free, isn’t it?  Well.  Let me tell you from the point of view of that invisible girl behind the free stuff, never do it again. Try to understand, all those little tasty treats have to be prepared. The amount of the particular item that’s sold that day is noted by the sampler's employer. You have only a certain amount of sample stuff with which to sell as much of the product as possible. Are you following?  Let me sum up.  The second time samplers are complete and utter time-wasting shitheads (from the point of view of the sample girl, obviously),  and for the purposes of this entry can be broken down into several convenient categories.

The Apologist – He or she (mainly shes) will walk slowly down the aisle towards your little stand, as if mesmerised. This is a shy creature, frequently sporting long, unkempt hair and shapeless ankle-length skirts, and so will need to be drawn in with a cheery invitation to partake in your complimentary wares. They will come over and listen seriously and intently to the information you give them and then eat. They will then draw aside while you speak to the pushy bastard who has charged right in (see The Twattering Ram) and stare quietly at the food. They will then feign an exaggerated tip-toe and smile humbly as they silently reach for another. They will then move on without ever, EVER buying the fucking stuff.

The Plague of Low-Costs – This is a family of economically challenged persons, numbering anywhere from 5 - 27. You hear the mother squawking in Estuary English from three or four aisles away and try in vain to hide the whole stand behind empty boxes. But her children are too well-trained in sample warfare. They know you’re there, you know they’re there. Through non-verbal signals, much like the communication system of the bumble-bee, the mother is notified of your presence and the whole brood stampede towards you. No eye contact is ever made. Five seconds ago you had a whole lovely little tray of samples. Now all you have are some crumbs and spit dribbling down your cheek.

The Fat, Greedy Bastard – Through the odd documentary about obesity and the mental anguish it causes those afflicted, I’ve developed a patronising, yet kindly pity for the lardasses of the world, and will most often think understanding thoughts about glands and thyroids and all sorts of other unfortunate diseases when I see them lumbering along. However, one day of handing out free food has made me realise what greedy fucking twats fat people really are.

The Fat, Greedy Bastard can be sub-categorised into two types – the buyer and the non-buyer. The Lesser Non-Buying Fat, Greedy Bastard will pretend to rush past but stop just at the last minute, as if he or she isn’t really bothered. Without waiting for you to hand them their sample on a little napkin, they reach out a podgy fist and grab one. Then they'll try another, just to make sure. Then they’ll spot one that is a minutely different shape from the others and have to eat that as well, because that must be a whole new variety. The samples are usually consumed in under 3 seconds and the session will be concluded with the sample girl being sprayed with crumbs as the Lesser Non-Buying Fat, Greedy Bastard says, ‘Nice, those are’ and hurries away again.

The Greater Buying Fat, Greedy Bastard will mimic the first part of the above almost exactly. Three or four samples down, they’ll send their wife or mother to pick up three or four boxes of the item to purchase. Apparently, this then entitles them to eat the rest of your plate. Quite literally.

The ‘Ooo, aren’t I just the cheekiest?’ Flybyer – Often the biggest cunts of the lot. They’ll grab a sample as they go past at high speed, without even the courtesy of looking at you. Five minutes later, they will return and repeat the action, but this time throwing a cheery, yet aggressive, ‘Cheeky, aren’t I?’ over their shoulder as they go. Can only be brought down with explosives.

The Twattering Ram – Always men. You’ll be talking your talk to a customer and The Twattering Ram will charge in, usually reaching over you and/or the other customer to grab violently at the food. They don’t ask, they don’t say thank you. And they always come back and do it again.

The ‘I shouldn’t, really’ Binge Dieters – Generally pleasant, but still highly annoying. These twittering ladies will sample your goods and exclaim over it for seemingly days. They will then make a clever feint to the left or right of your stall, throwing you off-guard and making you think they’re leaving. They’ll then spin on their kitten heel and say, ‘Ooo, I shouldn’t, really, but they’re just so nice’ and take another before you understand what is happening. This variety of second time sampler will then take 15 more samples away with them for various family members who, she assures you, will just love them.

Now is the time to ask yourself, do you see yourselves fitting into any of these categories? If you do, rest assured, someone out there thinks you’re a twat.

It’s not too late to change.