Recently, I've spent a lot of time observing you, the Public.
Not the Dunedin Public in particular, but the Public of a city further north.
For hours at a time, my work requires me to stand in a supermarket, at a sports event, and by other everyday locations which I won't reveal too specifically, lest you find me.
Consequentially, a lot has been learned about Mr and Mrs Bloggs. Apparently, every second Mr B is diabetic and every third Mrs B is dairy intolerant.
"Do these jam tarts come in a sugar-free, dairy-free variety?" I often wish that I could roll my eyes at Mr and Mrs Bloggs.
It's possible to predict (within a relatively small margin of error) the chance that any particular shopper will purchase my product. There are tell-tale signs to observe as they walk towards me: What are they wearing? How quickly are they walking?
Most importantly, who are they with? A young Mrs B with a Mr B on her arm will smile and pretend that she doesn't eat fat or sugar or anything at all, really.
"But," Mrs B will helpfully suggest, "Mr B will definitely try one." (Not only does young Mrs B tell Mr B what to do, but she also presumes to be able to read his mind.)
Even if young Mr B likes what he tries, he'll put the box back on the shelf and softly apologise, "I'd better not - she'd shoot me." I have much more success with older couples. They're more relaxed about their health, their figure, and their budget.
They live a leisurely lifestyle; they'll take two boxes, please. Thank you. Thank you! An entire Bloggs family is a demonstrator's goldmine ... Until their chubby brood demolishes all of the sample stock! Without fail, if an eldest sibling gets away with a second sample, all the younger siblings will also take a second sample.
There's a good technique to nip this problem in the proverbial bud: Look the parent (usually Mrs B rather than Mr B) in the eye and say, "One each."
The parent, in order to prove the obedience of their child, will reiterate the same sentiment but in a much more serious and meaningful tone. End result? Fewer wasted samples.
Slimmer children. Perhaps some manners have been learnt? Lone female shoppers provide the majority of the supermarket demographic, and they're a mixed bag.
Trolleys can be searched for hints of potential: Chocolate biscuits, ice-cream, lots of fruit, piles of meat, and expensive bread are sure signals of a buyer. Every time.
If, on the other hand, the female's basket contains carbonated water, organic crackers, bananas, and unsweetened yoghurt, I'm probably out of luck.
So, Bloggs, don't go thinking that you're unpredictable. I could typecast your shopping experience well before you leave the fruit and vege section.
However, I'll admit that the Public consists of some people who are definitely not related to the Bloggs; those distant relations who elude any preconceived notions of normality ...
The ginger-bearded man wearing a dress who wants to take an extra sample for his "Mother"; the lonely lady who has nothing in the trolley but an hour's worth of stories to tell; the female prisoner and her accom-panying guards ...
Some versions of Mrs B (interestingly more so than versions of Mr B) don't even answer when spoken to. They respond with a slight flick of their hand, and they keep walking. It makes me feel peculiarly like a buzzing insect, and I don't like it.
A man raises his eyebrows at me from across the aisle as I deal with the former of the aforementioned individuals. "Wow, you've seen it all now!" I appreciate his sympathy and I return his smile. "I hope you're right." I'm lying.
The Public may be cynical, kind, friendly, hopeless, irritating, energetic, intelligent, lazy, rude, inspiring, intimidating, arrogant, humorous, fun to engage with or simply normal but you are always, always, fascinating.
Katie Kenny studies English at the University of Otago.
