It was the summer of ’99.  We had jobs, if that was what you would call delivering leaflets and free papers.  A future of drinking and partying, boys and dates lingered ahead of us in the hazy air, so thick you could taste it.  We needed real money.

Mum’s friend worked in Woolworths, they had jobs.  I took the tests and aced them.  No interview was needed; they knew mum, had heard that I was a good kid.  That was enough.

I started working Saturday mornings, four hours standing at a till weighing pick’n'mix and smiling at all who passed.  Four hours turned to five and I stacked shelves too.  By Christmas I had reached the holy grail of the weekend workers and found myself working on the entertainment counter, along with longer hours, more days, and more money.

I loved my job, I was good at it.  I was asked to work full time, to quit college and stay there.  Coming from the manager it was the highest of praise.  Friendships were forged, relationships that would help me through the darkest of times.  When I left after two and a half years, heading out into the big bad world of full time work I said goodbye with a mixture of happiness and sorrow.  I could’ve stayed forever.

 14 months later I was back.  It took less than a week to arrange and in some respects I slotted back in as if I’d never been gone and had simply took on the job I’d been offered all those years ago.

It didn’t work out, but even so, when I left almost a year later I left with fond memories of what had been.  If things had been different I could still be there now.  Facing unemployment.

Last month Woolworths entered into administration.  If things had been different I could have been working there when the news broke, instead of sitting at my compter feeling a pang of nostalgia for what the UK was about to lose.

This afternoo0n as we were driving past the store where I’d worked I saw a sign advertising 80% off.  We stopped and I popped in to see if I could get any bargains.  It was a big mistake.  It was like watching vultures pick over a corpse, except this was a corpse you knew.  Only this was three years of memories looking back at me as they were torn apart. 

I guess it was partly morbid curiosity that sent me walking through those doors this afternoon, a little desire to recapture the memories that I once lived as well.  It backfired on me.  Instead of now remembering those years with a hint of fond happiness they will now be tainted with the image of vultures and an empty skeleton that barely resembled the visions from my memories.

Goodbye my friend.

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