COVIDIOTS

Description

It appears as though the world is crumbling. At the bottom of the murky depths, the 'key workers' emerge. We are at the frontline of the coronavirus pandemic and are the ones trying to keep us from sinking deeper. 

As I work in a British supermarket, and have regrettably been doing it for a number of years, I am in a rather unique position where I can tell the tale of some of the downright ridiculous things that have happened since the COVID-19 outbreak took hold of the country. 

I have long argued that ultimately it doesn't matter what supermarket I work for, or where it's located for that matter, because they are all exactly the same - each and every one of them from Penzance to John O'Groats will be full of the same pitfalls. But with madness and disorder, comedy and daftness can emerge. Of course, the humour stems from humans doing what they do best - not listening to what they're being asked to do and making absolute 'covidiots' of themselves. 

This book is all about the 'covidiots' that have made the experience for supermarket workers like me infinitely more challenging than it should have been. Where there are people, there are 'covidiots'.

About the Author

Author Name : J Sinclair

     I have been working in the retail sector for a number of years whilst at university studying an undergraduate degree and two masters degrees. With the chances of finding jobs in my field as certain as finding a needle in a haystack, I decided to write about my experiences during the COVID-19 outbreak and I have recently become published via Apple Books. I have also spend the past year writing over 100,000 words that explain why working in a supermarket, whilst being dreadful most of the time, can indeed be a goldmine for jokes and hilarity.

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Latest Poem

Where are your bones, I wonder?

Your dust, your last breath?

I see you queued with your mates

In your final military assembly:

            Bates next to Beasley

            Gillum next to Green

            And so on.

It is a moment captured forever in brass letters,

The year scuffed and barely legible.

How does a hero sleep?  Do you dream of past valor?

Or soft shoulders and tender kisses lost forever?

This once hallowed ground is swathed in weeds,

Cannons and missiles rusted and impotent,

The fence sagging with age.

People pass by, but nobody sees.

Even the names have become ghosts.

John W. Bebout  2018

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