This is an extract from Racism: Stories of fear, hate and bigotry, edited by Winnie Dunn, Stephen Pham and Phoebe Grainer.
ALDI
Bananas are the first thing I see walking into ALDI. Having forgotten snacks, I grab two small bright yellow ones and go to the register. I place them in a bag so my nervy two-year-old can eat without dropping banana flesh out of his stroller.
$1.07. I tap my card and wait for the receipt to be handed to me. I fold and slide it to the bottom of the plastic bag. My friend was fined for letting her daughter eat a yoghurt pouch before paying.
I trace the aisles as quickly as I can to collect the items on the list in order of proximity. Green bananas. Raspberries. Beef mince. Sausages. Salted butter. Yoghurt pouches. Walker-size nappies. Corn Thins. American peanut butter. Couscous. Frozen spinach. Belgian waffles. Seeded bread.
$37.43 later, everything is stuffed into a crumpled blue IKEA bag. The straps cut into my skin. I know I will have bright red striations on my shoulder. I walk out with the receipt tucked into the left cup of my bra.
COLES
Coles has the one item I couldn’t buy at ALDI. Master Foods Garlic & Herb Seasoning - $2.25 on sale. I tap the card on the screen. I wait for the receipt to roll out and tear it off the dispenser from left to right.
‘Excuse me… mmmmmm mmmmmmm,’ says the fluorescent-vested COVID marshall. The only audible words are ‘excuse me’.
‘Excuse me?’ I ask right back.
‘Did you buy those other items here?’
I snatch the receipt from my bra pocket, hold it in the air for two seconds and keep moving.
I got receipts.
Writer Sydnye Allen (Photo: Bethany Pal) Source: Supplied
HARRIS FARM
Harris Farm stocks items year-round. All I need is one large jalapeño for homemade pico de gallo.
Raspberries: 2 for $5. I throw two punnets in the trolley, even though I know that the small font at the bottom of the sign reads: Or $2.50 each. On the way to the peppers, my toddler entertains himself by eating ‘wasbewwies’ off his fingertips.
The masked teenager with a long ponytail asks me, ‘Do you have a bag?’
‘Yes, I do.’ I point to the crunchy blue bag on my shoulder.
‘$7.36. Tap when you’re ready.’
I tap and wait for the green tick on the machine. While I’m putting the card away, she asks, ‘Would you like a receipt?’
‘Yes, please.’ I take the long receipt from her gloved hand and say,
‘Thank you.’
I reach my hand in and release the punnets - loose jalapeños and receipt into the bottom of the empty bag.
WOOLWORTHS
Every Wednesday, I receive an email from Woolworths telling me how much I can save because their algorithm knows I only shop there for half-priced items. It’s disconcerting to me that people routinely pay full price. The bold font email alerts me: You can save $30.25 with this week’s specials. I am sceptical because they often suggest forty-packs of Solo to me after I once bought four bottles for a birthday party.
Biozet Attack Plus Eliminator and Arnott’s Cracker Chips are half-price. Woolworths Leichhardt is the closest location. Bulk-buying requires a trolley. I choose one of those slimlines for people who don’t have children to push. I line three boxes of Biozet at the end of the trolley. The corner on one is crushed so I put it back on the shelf. Three is too many anyway.
Then I push over to the snacks aisle. There they are, sea salt flavoured crackers that crumble like chips in the black box that has double front packaging. One side is upside up and the other is upside down, so I have to read the end that says This End Up each time I open a box. Saliva pools under my tongue. Eight or ten? They are $2.25. I make two rows of four boxes in front of the detergent.
Self-checkout has two available registers. I go to the compact Card Only one and start scanning. In proper and subtle Aussie English, the machine asks, ‘Do you wish to continue? This machine accepts card only.’
I tap Yes and scan the second box of laundry detergent, followed by ten boxes of crackers.
$40 is the total. I calculate in my head. Eleven times two is twenty-two plus two twenty-five times eight is… Two twenty-five times two is four fifty. Four fifty times four is eighteen. Eleven plus eighteen is forty. I tap Pay Now.
‘Follow the pin pad prompts to finalise your payment.’ The machine’s voice sounds sort of like a news anchor’s. What neighbourhood would she be from?
I hover my card over the Wi-Fi signal and wait for the next screen.
‘Do you wish to print a receipt?’ I press Yes with my index knuckle. Printer Error displays on the screen in a rectangular box. ‘Please wait for an attendant.’ A red light flashes over my head.
I wave to the person in an elbow length sleeve uniform shirt. Their nose pokes over the wrinkled top of their blue and white mask.
‘Do you need something?’
‘The machine didn’t print my receipt.’
‘Do you need it?’
My eyes roll up. I study the oily coating on this person’s straight hair.
‘Yes. I do.’
A series of pop-up screens are cleared and a bar code is scanned while the printer roll is replaced. They wipe their nose on the back of their right arm then hand me a docket that reads across the top: Reprinted Receipt.
I strain trying to release my clenched jaw. ‘Um, thank you.’
REJECT SHOP
We walk past the Reject Shop and my two-and-a-half-year-old runs inside the door, his curls bouncing as he bounds. ‘Balloons!’
‘Bubba, you already have a balloon. We don’t have time. Baba is waiting for us in the supermarket.’
‘I want a balloon!’ The circular balloons on a stick cost $3. ‘I want a balloon!’
‘Okay! Which balloon? These are all flat. You don’t need one that says, “You’re 1!” or “18”. Do you want this unicorn one?’
‘No, I want this one.’ He is holding a construction vehicle balloon that is partially inflated.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, candy canes!’ He sprints toward Christmas. I pivot, leap, grab him under the arms and hoist him into the air.
‘No candy canes. Let’s pay for this balloon. Baba is waiting.’ When we get to the counter, he waves the balloon around in circles while the dark-haired attendant waits for more direction. ‘We need to pay for this balloon.’
‘Just this?’
I nod with raised eyebrows.
‘$3.’
‘Can these be inflated? Do you have any others?’
She pulls a door open below the register, then closes it, looks around behind her and says, ‘No.’ She places her hand on the card reader and says, ‘When you’re ready.’
Ready, I tap and walk toward the door. ‘Come on, Bubba, we have to go.’ He is still top-heavy, tumbling over my arm toward the register.
I struggle to hold us up. ‘No, Mama! Our ceipt! Our ceipt!’
I back step and affirm. ‘Yes, Bubba. Our receipt.’ We walk away with him holding the squishy balloon in his left hand and the receipt in his right.
This is an extract from Racism: Stories of fear, hate and bigotry, edited by Winnie Dunn, Stephen Pham and Phoebe Grainer.
Sweatshop is a literacy movement dedicated to empowering culturally and linguistically diverse writers through reading, writing and critical thinking. The book is available .
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