Every week a delivery van from Tesco stops at our house, bringing food supplies. A guy knocks at our door carrying a crate and a list of what’s in it. Usually the dialogue is very short: reading out a list of things we had ordered that were replaced.
The other day, before noon, I was really looking forward to seeing the Tesco van. I was hungry and kept thinking of the organic eggs and veggies we ordered. When I heard a knock on the door I was hoping it was the Tesco guy. My boyfriend answered the door.
“You don’t have much of a Scouse accent,” he said to the Tesco guy.
“No” he answered, “I’m from Cambridge.”
I got interested in the conversation and tip toed towards the front door. He was telling how he used to be a logistics director for a big company in Cambridge. Then he had a heart attack. He left his job and was paid big money to not work in the same business sector for a year. He moved to Liverpool and set up his own consultancy firm with the money he got from his redundancy. He also got a part time job delivering groceries for Tesco.
“People ask me why on earth I work for Tesco,” he said, “isn’t it a dead end job? But I think it’s great because I just follow instructions and it frees my mind to think about other stuff. It keeps me sane and my feet on the ground.”