Checkout champion Shannon McMinn (left) of Pak'nSave Albany won Foodstuffs Checker of the Year; her colleague Heather Spreckley took third place. Photo / Jason Oxenham
Checkout champion Shannon McMinn (left) of Pak'nSave Albany won Foodstuffs Checker of the Year; her colleague Heather Spreckley took third place. Photo / Jason Oxenham
Competitive checkout operating requires speed, accuracy, mental precision and an unshakeable smile. Steve Deane finds it's harder than it sounds.
Like Zinedine Zidane's headbutt in the 2006 World Cup final, or David Latta diving over a ruck in a 1994 Ranfurly Shield match, there's no real explanation for the blowout that occurs just 20 seconds into my career as a competitive checkout operator.
Having cleared the first few hurdles -a loaf of bread, bottle of olive oil and a bag of budget cocoa puffs - I've scanned a pouch of Heinz organic beef and pumpkin baby food and casually lobbed it into the shopping trolley. LOBBED IT, for Jiminy Cricket's sake! You can't lob in competitive checking out. Lobbing is a major effing no-no. I can't even plead ignorance, having only moments earlier been instructed that treating the customers' products with respect is the single most important thing a would-be champion (or semi-competent) cashier must do.
"You'd be marked down for that," says the eagle-eyed Maria Norman, a veteran checkout operator who's still got game. She'd come close to taking out the national title 28 years ago representing a Rotorua supermarket, only for a miscount adding up her till to cruelly rob her of glory. But three years ago she proved she could still match it with the young bucks, scoring 100 per cent on the way to a top ten finish.
I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I'm pretty sure Maria never lobbed any baby food.
Steve Deane tried his best but failed to meet the high standards required of a checkout operator. Photo / Jason Oxenham
The moment of madness has come and gone and there's no taking it back. Not that it would have mattered. Shannon and Heather are smashing me out of sight. In fact, the first and third place-getters in the recent Northern Regional champs have gone awfully quiet on the tills behind me. Mainly because they've finished scanning the 30 items that make up our race. It's a dead-set massacre. My time of two minutes flat is precisely double that of Heather's, while Shannon has done the job in an incredible 55 seconds. What's more, the pair's trolleys are impeccably stacked, with the toiletries kept a respectful distance from the perishables. I've got lemon bleach and paper towels either side of the cocoa pops and a rubbish bag on top of the poppadoms. Total shambles.
In fairness, Heather and Shannon have a fair bit of local course knowledge on their side.
The 19-year-old students (I'm reliably informed by a colleague they should be referred to as women rather than checkout girls or chicks) have been honing their skills at Albany's Pak'nSave since they were 15. And Albany's Pak'nSave, it transpires, is pretty much the Real Madrid youth academy of the checkout game.
The supermarket took out the team championship and had five place-getters in the top ten at the recent regional champs.
Having dispatched my feeble challenge, Shannon now faces three mystery shops, with the title to go to whichever of 10 national finalists performs best when they don't know they are being judged.
They'll be marked on efficiency, but also their demeanour. An ability to keep chipper and chatty over an eight-hour shift dealing with customers who - if they're anything like me - just want to cough up the dough and get the hell out of Dodge before any more of their soul is irretrievably sucked into a supermarket black hole is a skill not to be underestimated.
Heather loves her job, she tells me as we stalk the aisles in search of items with difficult-to-access bar codes (yes that is an 'I was stitched up' whinge). It's comparatively well paid, conditions are great and there are plenty of opportunities for advancement. She also loves her customers, many of whom enjoy a regular catch up over their weekly shop.
I'm more of a Trevor Cooper type when it comes to checkout work - happy to extol its virtues but unlikely to turn up for a 5am shift in the unlikely event I win $26 million on the Powerball. Turns out that would be no great loss to the industry.
