If I am not part of the solution, I am part of the problem.

When Trump first announced he was running as a candidate for the Republican party, I dismissed it as a joke. Then, as months passed, mockery gave way to disbelief, then to anger, frustration and indignation. How could such racism, bigotry, and misoginy appeal to so many people? How could someone whose speeches had no substance and no content convince voters? 

I cried and shouted and poured contempt on Trump supporters, and on all those who supported fascist politicians. I despised them for their perceived stupidity and bigotry and for their hatred. I felt proud that I was "not like them" (Parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, anyone?).

Tonight, I read this article, and it dawned on me that like any other story, it's not all simple; it's not all black and white. It's not just stubborn Fundies. It's also people who have been left behind by an elitist system, and felt more support was given to minorities than to them. And they have been deceived into believing Trump will fix that. (Or that a fascist European politician will fix that.)

And suddenly it dawned on me. I cannot humilate them into changing their minds. I cannot bully them into behaving like decent human beings. I cannot even try to "educate" them because by doing this, I am only arrogantly putting myself above them. Humiliating and despising them will only reinforce the problem. 

The only helpful, Jesus-like thing I can do is the same thing I have been doing for Muslims in my centre for asylum seekers, despite my initial fears and misgivings about Muslims: love them. Reach out to them. Listen to them. Seek to understand them. Show them empathy.

So this is where I want to start. Holy Spirit, enable me, because I cannot do this on my own.

I want to follow Jesus, and I foolishly believe love will save the world. You may tell me I am a fucking fool. You're most probably right.

What is it like to work in a centre for asylum seekers?

So what is it like to work at a Red Cross centre for asylum seekers? Well, it is many things.

It's challenging. 

We house about 500 people from over 10 different nationalities, with a broad range of culture, education and background. Most are Muslims, some are Christians, a few are atheists. Some come from big cities, others from remote villages. We have single men, families (up to 10 children), single women, couples (including a few gay couples) and a few unaccompanied minors (teenagers). There's bound to be tensions and disagreements, and if you don't manage to calm things down and find a compromise everybody agrees on, you may very well have a fight on your hands. 

Because let's face it: this is a human population like any other. Some people are hard-working and offer to help out straight away, others are lazy. Some are kind and meek, others are angry and aggressive. They all have qualities and faults like the rest of us. Being asylum seekers doesn't make them angels (and equally, it doesn't make them demons either!). And all of them are under a huge amount of anxiety and stress, having gone through a rough journey (not to speak about the horrors of war and persecution), being housed in far-from-ideal conditions in a strange country, and living in complete uncertainty about their own future, as they don't know whether and when their asylum request will be granted.

Moreover, the centre is actually an old, de-commissioned hospital. Not only was it not in very good conditions to begin with, but it was never designed to accomodate 500 people. We get daily complaints about leaks, heating or water failures, or broken electrics. To top it all, we are in an rural area. The nearest village is 30 minutes away on foot, and the nearest town is 30 minutes away by bus (and busses don't run at the weekend). Residents feel isolated.

Then there is the language barrier. The majority of them only speak very, very basic English (or none at all), so communication can be a huge issue. When a mother comes to you in a panic, speaking quickly in Farsi while holding her child, and there is no one near who could translate what she is so urgently trying to tell you, it's intensely frustrating and stressful, because you know she needs you, but you can't help her until you've found someone who speaks Farsi AND English.

It's chaotic.

The centre only opened on October 1st, and a lot of repairs and refurbishment had to be done. We've had days when we knew a coach of 50 people would arrive an hour later, and workmen were still putting in showers and kitchens in the block where we were supposed to house them. The beds that were initially ordered turned out to be a disaster, as most of them broke, and we had to order new ones. Some rooms don't have a lock yet, resulting in children pillaging a room where we had stocked donated toys - I wanted to cry when I saw the state of the room afterwards. Fortunately, parents came to help us tidy up. In any case, we're often running around like headless chickens because there is so much to do.

It's heartbreaking. 

One man broke down in tears in front of me after being transferred to our centre. After enduring a dangerous journey, he had been temporarily housed in a camp under tents and had started making himself useful and getting to know people around him, only to be suddendly transferred here where he knew no one and felt useless. It was the last straw for him, and he cried and cried. Another man has no contact with his family at all - they live in Taliban country and he has no idea whether they're alive or dead. Yet another one, aged 24, lost his young son in an explosion.

It's wonderful.

You get to meet people from all walks of life and get a glimpse of their culture. If you're in the hallways at meal times, more often than not you're invited to share food with them. And then, they tell you their stories. They're doctors, engineers, barbers, singers, pilots, plumbers, therapists, artists. Theirs are human stories of joy and pain and loss and hope. A Muslim lady and her husband took a young lesbian couple under their wings - the girls now call them "Mama" and "Papa". Yesterday, a father and his daughter were reunited with his wife and 2 other children - they had been separated during the journey and we helped them trace each other. Seeing a 3-year-old girl scream, "Mama!", run down the corridor and throw herself around her mother's neck, then lifting up her 18-months-old brother and hugging him tight, is priceless.

It's joyful. 

I attended a "mutlicultural party" in another centre nearby. Afghan, Iraqi and Somali people showed us some traditional dancing, culminating in a big round dance where they grabbed by mother, my partner and myself, so we found ourselves in the middle of the dance floor. We're having such a party in our centre tomorrow night and I can't wait!

It's never dull, as we never know what might happen and there's always a funny anecdote waiting to be told. Yesterday, a resident came to me at 6:30 pm asking to see his social worker. I straighfacedly informed him that she had gone home, and that contrary to what it may seem at times, we do not sleep on the premises (we both burst out laughing at that point).

As a Christian, it is a true blessing.

I have a unique opportunity to serve people, and thus, to serve Jesus. When many hostile voices are rising against Muslims and refugees, I can show them love in a practical way (which, in terms of sharing the Gospel, speaks louder than any sermon). I am getting used to seeing different faces and this helps me overcome the fear we naturally feel when confronted to "the stranger". I am daily humbled by people's stories, and by my own lack of patience. I am learning daily to see people as Jesus sees them - beloved children of God. And trust me, that doesn't come easy when the same person comes for the same minor complaint for the third time while you're trying to deal with a sick child, or you have to face an angry, shouting man. It's a blessing, and it's humbling.

I love my job. Truly.

Never a dull moment...

Yesterday was fun. In the morning, I had to go around and check room occupancy. Most residents offered me food (which I had to turn down, except once as the man wouldn't let me leave without having some of his tomato and onion scrambled eggs) and one made me a cup of shockingly sweet tea. At some point, I sat on the floor in a corridor to check which rooms I hadn't seen yet - and someone came out and gave me a chair.

I left work on time (for once) after a busy day, singing to myself in the car. As I drove into my village (15 minutes away from the asylum centre), I did a double take. Standing at the crossroads were a dozen residents from my centre. Rather puzzled, I parked the car and walked up to them.

Turns out they were coming back from the train station and had taken the wrong bus. "It's all Mr Abib's* fault", they said, laughing. "He said we had to get on that bus!" There were men, as well as a mother with her two young children. Bear in mind the cold weather is settling now, and it was dark and freezing. I picked up my phone and called the centre, who sent someone with the minibus to pick them up. I waited with them, and phoned Nicholas to warn him I'd be late - but his phone was off. So the residents started asking me about him. "What time does your husband get back from work?" When I explained we had to go buy some food, one of them looked a little puzzled. "Does your husband need to tell you what to buy?" "No, we go shopping together." This earned Nicholas a round of applause, so I added, "He also cooks for me most of the time, you know!" Second round of applause.

Our residents are fun.

(*Name changed for privacy reasons)

"We cannot take in all the misery of the world!"

You may or may not know that since 1 October 2015, I have been working in a Red Cross centre for asylum seekers. This is a job that suits my values and beliefs, and I view it as a great and challenging opportunity to serve God and others, as a Christian.

However, when I mention my work, there is a little sentence that I hear far too often and that really gets on my nerves.
 
"We cannot take in all the misery of the world!"

Nobody is asking us to take in all the misery of the world. According to recent statistics, 27,000 people registered as asylum seekers in Belgium. This is hardly "all the misery in the world" - not even close. If all conflict and poverty victims really came to Europe, we'd have billions to cope with, not thousands.

Which brings me to my second point. We may be facing an economic crisis, but we are still part of a privileged minority. None of us have to wonder where our next meal will come from, or where we will sleep tonight. We don't have to fear bombing, beheading, or persecution because of our ideas, faith or lifestyle. We enjoy huge amounts of freedom, and we have more than we need. Moreover, the only reason we have that privilege is that we were born in the right place. We did nothing to deserve it. So how dare we reject those who are less fortunate in that respect?

Not all people currently seeking asylum in Belgium will stay. Some decide to go back home when they realise what appalling conditions they'll have to live in for an undetermined period of time (have you ever visited a refugee camp?) Others won't get refugee status - criteria are strict and the procedure itself is complex. Others still will only be granted a subsidiary protection that's limited in time - if the situation in their country gets better, they will be asked to leave Europe.

Some, however, will stay. They will be workers and consumers, enabling our economy to keep going. They will bring their skills (many residents in my centre are engineers). They will be our neighbours, our doctors, or our shopkeepers. I hope they will be our friends, but that all depends on how we welcome them. If we treat them with wariness and hostility, how can they become integrated in our society?

During World War 2, many Belgians fled the country for fear of the Germans. My grandmother recalls that many French citizens regarded Belgian refugees with hostility, with some villages putting up signs that said, "No water for Belgians". How short our memory is!

Finally, if we don't welcome them, what should we do? Should we let them die on our doorstep? They're human beings. They're all somebody's son or daughter. They're fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters. Would you let your mother or your brother die on your doorstep because you worry there might not be enough room inside for them?

If you have a better solution, a human and compassionate alternative, we are all ears. 

Light at the end of the tunnel - a work update

I have been working in a local supermarket for 2 years and 7 months. A total of 31 long months in an environment that is draining at best, sometimes soul-destroying. 

Only today, I was given a reminder of why I find it so difficult. I saw a woman walk up to me and thought she probably needed information, so I greeted her with a smile, "Good morning!"

She replied curtly, "Here, check the price of that item for me. It seems darn expensive to me."

How about hello, please, thank you?

We aspies are said to struggle with social conventions. Yet, I have been taught that basic manners are important, and I make sure I use them - only to see so-called "normal" people discard them and talk to me like I'm beneath them. In those 31 long months I have been patronised, talked to rudely and even insulted. All the while keeping my smile (even if I was boiling with anger inside sometimes). And I'm the anti-social one?

Fortunately, as you'll probably remember, some new work opportunities have presented themselves to me. This has given me the confidence to hand in my notice. The 6th of June will be my last day! I'm counting the days.

However, it will be a step into the unknown. I am still working on the translation I started back in February - 86 pages done out of 107, and still a lot of research to do to sort out the quotations. I recently had an email exchange with the publisher and gave him an update of my progress. He gave no sign of impatience (phew!).

The language school, however, have failed to get back in touch with me. Not only that, but I can't get through to them - I have called (no one answers) and sent emails and gotten no reply. This worries me a fair bit.

I know what you'll say - look for something else. But all my free time (pretty much) is taken up by translation.

We shall see. At least, as of the 6th of June, I will have a lot more time - to finish the translation and to search for another job.

On the 6th of June, I will be free.

Best customer questions

As you probably know, I work in a supermarket. While the constant stream of interfering noises is one of the most difficult things to cope with as an aspie, interacting with people can be quite frustrating, too - people acting too familiar, being unclear in their requests, or just plain rude. Today I'm going to share some of the questions customers have asked me...

- "Excuse me, do you work here?" No, I stole a uniform because I thought it was so elegant.

- (Seeing me kneeling to restock the lower shelves) "Saying your prayers, are you?"

- "I don't understand how the buy one, get one free offer works." Well, if you manage to do a handstand while holding both items on one foot, the second one is free. 

- "So you have a boyfriend? How much is he paying you?" Excuse me, did you just call me a prostitute?

- (Customer staring at the yoghurt and dessert aisle) "Where is the mozarella?!"
"Just over there, sir, in the cheese aisle."

- (Same customer who asked how much my boyfriend paid me) "So, this boyfriend of yours, is he on the dole or on income support?" ...

- (Customer showing me a box of painted Easter eggs): "Are those Easter eggs?" Nope, can't you see they're lemons?

- (Customer staring at the margarine section and letting out a huge, baffled sigh) "Which one do you use for cooking?"
"None of those, madam. I use olive oil."

-"Still working, are you?" No, I was bored so I thought I'd restock shelves just for the fun of it.

- Me (turning to customer who just pulled at my trousers waistband): "Excuse me!"
Customer: "Don't you like it?" Geez, yeah. I love getting old creeps tugging at my clothes. WTF?

- (Customer seeing me clean the glass doors) "Will you come and clean mine afterwards?"
"Sure, how much will you pay my cleaning services?"

- "Do you sell painted Easter eggs?"
"Well, around Easter we do, but it's November at the moment..."

- "If there is no price on this item, does it mean it's free?" Oh, sure. Ask the manager.

- (Fifty-something customer accompanied by his mother) "Why don't you go to the village ball? Men would only have eyes for you!" Good grief...

- "I'm pretty sure you can't help me at all, but I have been looking everywhere and I just can't find that, I need it to cook dinner and I really don't know if you sell any..." Well, if you started by telling me what it is you are looking for, I'm pretty sure I could help you all right. As it is...

Be careful what you pray for... God may answer yes!

As you know, I am deeply dissatisfied with my job, and one of my goals, this year, is to look into alternatives.

Last year, I registered as a freelance translator (I studied languages and translation originally), thinking I could do this on the side and build a client base. However, over the course of a whole year, I only had one translation request. I felt rather disheartened and stuck in a rut.

 A few days ago, I decided to ask for prayer in a Facebook Christian group I'm a part of. 

The very next day, I phoned an organisation in my area that offers private language classes to individuals and small groups. I wanted to offer my services as a language tacher, as I have doing it privately for a few friends. The director told me he had no opening for the moment. However, he is currently expanding his client base, and if all goes according to plan, in a couple of months' time he will need a new teacher of English to work with him. He sounded impressed with my level of English. He asked me to send my CV, referring to our phone conversation. This was already very positive.
 
Then later the same day, I received an email from the publishing director of a Christian publishing company. He got my details through a friend of mine and asked if I could make them an offer to translate a Christian book on ethics from English into French. He sent me a pdf copy. The book gives a brief overview of ethics and morals in the Western world throughout history, the influence of the Bible, Greek thought, the Enlightenment, and Christian theologians. It's very interesting and I enjoyed reading it. I emailed him back saying I'd be glad to translate it.

Today, I privately messaged a member of my Facebook group, asking her to keep praying. Within minutes of that message exchange, the publishing director called me! He said if the publising company's manager gives the OK, they'll send me a paper copy of the book.

I'm actually rather anxious, because I have only ever done one professional translation. It was very short (2 pages). Apart from this, I have translated various texts as a free service for friends. I have no real idea about the practical/professional side of things, and my training was such an awful long time ago!

My main cause for worry is that the author quotes (sometimes extensively) from other works on philosophy, religion and ethics (Thomas Aquinas, Kant, John Paul II, to name but three, as well as more recent and/or lesser known ones), so I'll have to find out whether those works have been translated in French so I can use the official translation. That will involve painstaking research, and I live in the middle of nowhere. I may need to plan a few trips to the nearest university!

The other worry, of course, is time. I already work 38 hours a week (and those are only my official hours, in reality I do 2 to 4 hours more every week), and as I mentioned, I do private English tuition as well. I'll have to be organised and disciplined. 

Right now I feel overwhelmed by all sorts of emotions. Gratitude and amazement at how God answered the prayers of my online community, excitment, joy, of course. But anxiety and nervousness as well because of the issues I mentioned above, and because I still have that nagging little voice of low self-esteem telling me I may not be able to do it. God answering prayers - that can be scary, sometimes.

All I can do is move forward one step at a time - walking in trust. If you're a praying person, would you please pray for me? 

Logo designed by my graphic designer friend Bélinda. 

Meltdown

Today, I had a meltdown on may way home.

Nothing happened in particular.

I'm just so sick and tired of my job, of feeling cold all the time, of the constant noise, and of having to constantly wear my "kind and polite supermarket employee" mask when people irritate the hell out of me with their familiarity, their rudeness, their mean-spirited "humour".

I try so hard to look at the positive and to be grateful, knowing full well that there are far worst jobs, and that some people in the world are being exploited and enslaved, and that others struggle to find work. I try. I really do.

But on days like today I just hate it, hate it, hate it; and I guess it's healthier to aknowledge that, than pretend I'm OK.

So I cried and vented and ranted.

And tomorrow... is another day.

Taking off the rose-tinted glasses

I guess my latest post may have puzzled some of you.

Back in October, I wrote about finding the positive in my work. That is what I have been striving to do for almost two years, because I don't want to be ungrateful for what I do have, and because looking at the positive helps me feel better.

However, the more time goes by, the less I can deny this very simple truth:

I actually hate my job.

Obviously, there is the fact that it doesn't fit my training, experience and skills at all. I have two university degrees - one in languages and translation, and the other one in teaching. Over the years, I have worked in the administrative field at first, then in the education field, mainly as a teaching assistant and holiday carer for children with special needs. Now I work in a supermarket. I have no training in sales or marketing, and no affinity for those kind of things.

In fact, the more I work in sales, the more appalled I am by the tactics used to make people buy things (I wrote a little bit about that in my post about advertising). For instance, we regularly have a "Buy one, get one free" offer on crates of cheap beer - and this, in a town where alcohol problems are rampant. I find that criminal, but, "That's just business". Not to mention the conditions in which many of the things we sell are made - think about slave-harvested shrimp or chocolate. So I am part of an industry that goes against everything I believe in.

There is also the work environment itself. I have an autistic spectrum disorder. I have sensory issues - I am extremely sensitive to noise, and my brains struggles to process more than one information at once. In my shop, there is the buzzing of fridges, neon lights, and air conditioning, the beeping of the tills, the constant background music - and I cannot shut it off. As a result, I struggle to concentrate on my work, and at the end of the day, I am mentally exhausted even though my job isn't intellectually challenging. Sensory overload, coupled with my low tolerance to stress, has brought about many a meltdown.

Another issue is having to interact with a lot of people. Don't get me wrong, I usually like people and enjoy helping them. However, having to deal with customers' requests while carrying out other tasks I need to focus on is difficult. And I really struggle with people's familiarity. Customers see me every day, and they seem to think I'm somehow close to them. Of course, this means the culturally expected greeting kiss, but it also means some customers feel it's OK to squeeze my shoulder or even, I kid you not, affectionately slap my bum (I politely asked the lady who did it every time she saw me to stop doing it. She took it well, but what made her think it was OK in the first place?).

The content of the job itself is the same week in, week out. It's not interesting, and most of the time I'm really cold, because I'm in the refrigerated foods department.

So all in all, and not matter how many fun little sides I may found to it, and no matter how much I want to be grateful to have a job in the first place, I hate it, and I struggle more and more.

I need a new job, but I don't even know where to start...

A giraffe on an ice field

Once upon a time, some poachers captured a young giraffe to sell him to a zoo. They bound him in thick ropes, so he couldn't escape without injuring himself; and put him on a boat headed to a country where they didn't have giraffes. Children would be delighted to gaze at him, no doubt.

The journey lasted for weeks and weeks, and the weather was getting colder and colder until the boat ran into a storm. In the chaos that ensued, the giraffe fell overboard just before the boat sank.

By some stroke of luck, however, he managed to swim to a very close shore.

It was very odd and unlike anything he had seen before. First of all, it had no colour - just an endless field of blinding white. Then, it was cold - as cold as the water he had been in moments before. He started to shiver as he took a few hesitant steps. Boy, was it slippery!

He had landed on an ice field.

Now our giraffe was a very clever creature. His height and long neck allowed him to reach the highest foliage to feed, and his tongue was grooved to easily strip leaves from branches.

Pity there were no trees to feed from, only ice.

His patches of brown and tan made great camouflage on the yellow, sun-beaten grasslands of Africa.

But the giraffe wasn't in a brown and tan grassland. He was on a dazzling white ice field, and he really stood out.

The giraffe had beautiful, long lashes around his eyes that were very useful to keep insects out.

Only, there were no insects on the ice field.

His wide hooves and nimble legs gave him good balance and the ability to run fast.

However, his hooves slipped on the ice and he couldn't run.

All of our giraffe's wonderful characteristics were completely useless, sometimes even a hindrance, because he wasn't in the right environment.

That giraffe, my friends, is me.

Finding the positive

As I said in my latest post, I try to look at the positive in my job. I even made a list!

1.  I have been brought up to believe in the value of work. Working, even in a seemingly menial job, is worthwhile for many reasons. By supporting myself, I am ensuring my independence. In addition, I am making myself useful.

2. My boss may be a bit rough around the edges and a very bad communicator, but I believe he is a kind man. He has had to deal with difficult things in his life and did the best he could, and I have a lot of respect for him. He is also quite understanding of my condition, even though he doesn't really get it - apparently, you can be understanding even when you don't understand it all...

3. I get on well with my colleagues. We can have interesting conversations and a good laugh - one them has started reading a science magazine for kids after seeing me doing it, which I think is pretty awesome.

4. I can practice being kind and caring to people even here, as some of our customers, especially the elderly, suffer from loneliness and are happy to have someone to talk to, even for a few minutes. It's a good challenge to try and be kind to people you don't really like, or when you're feeling tired and cranky. And I really think that putting a smile on people's faces is infinitely worthwhile. I can be a positive force in this world, just by doing this.

5. The stress involved with being responsible for consumer goods is not at intense as the stress involved with being responsible for people. As a teaching assistant, a mistake on my part could mean a child would get hurt. In my current job, we may have to throw away some bread I left in the oven for too long from time to time, but no lives are at stake.

6. Talking of which, I love baking the bread. They may be industrial pre-baked loaves and baguettes, but the wholesome smell is wonderful as they come out of the oven all golden and crispy and gorgeous.

7. I have discovered how to use the Force.The big shutter door that separates the storeroom from the store itself opens itself automatically when you walk through it. They think it's because it has sensors... but I know the truth *gestures to the shutter door theatrically and watches it raise in time with her hand*

8. I can see the most dangerous creatures from up close (no, I'm not talking about customers, although...). The first time I had to empty the bin, I was told to bring it to the "Molok". Now, I don't know about you, but in my mind, the name Molok conjures up some kind of underground demon, made of the darkest darkness, with eyes like furnaces and a mouth whose appetite can never be satisfied. Never mind that the Molok is actually a giant, half-buried garbage disposal unit outside the store - in my vivid imagination, he's still some mythical monster. Whenever I bring bins to the Molok, I am really glad he only wants to eat garbage, not me.

9. All this physical exercice is getting me fit. Lifting heavy boxes and carrying them up stepladders, jumping on and off the platform in the storeroom (I can't be bothered to use the stairs), running around trying to get everything done. And even better, I get karate-kid-style training. Cleaning the glass doors of all the fridges in my department means almost two hours of "wax-on, wax-off" arm exercice. I'll be a black belt by Christmas.

10. I can up my resistance to extreme temperature by going from the freezer room (minus 18° Celsius°) to the oven (200° Celsius). With this, and the physical training, I'll be physically ready for the zombie apocalypse.

Is my job worthwhile?

I have been working in a supermarket for almost two years now.

How did someone with two university degrees (one in languages, one in education), experience in administrative work, education, and support of young people with disabilities end up in a supermarket?

The straightforward answer is that it is better than no job at all. The more detailed answer is that finding clients as a translator is harder than I had imagined; teaching assistant positions are non-existent in Belgium; and working with people with disabilities requires a Belgian qualification that I do not have.

I remember telling an acquaintance about my current supermarket work. His immediate response was, "Not really worthwhile, then, is it?"

That's a tell-tale response. Regardless of whether I like my job or not, does working as a supermarket employee make me a lesser person? It shouldn't, yet, in people's expectations, it somehow does. Even in mine - I am always a bit embarrassed and apologetic about it. Why is this? I shouldn't have to be. People seem to consider that if someone works in a supermarket, they must be uneducated and not very smart. They never stop to consider the skills involved in managing tills, for instance - a task so complex that I've proven unable to handle it - or in managing orders of food on a big scale - another task that my manager does in my stead because he knows I don't have the skills for it. 

Even if this position doesn't fit my training and skills, at the end of the day, it means I work. I don't take advantage of the benefit system. I try and do my job to the best of my abilities, I work hard, and I endeavour to be pleasant and helpful to everyone (and trust me, being pleasant to people can be challenging when you have Asperger's - more often than not you say the wrong thing when trying to be nice and sociable, and people look at you funny). So why should my job not be considered worthwhile?

I try and look at the positive of my job, even though it's not easy.

Basic courtesy...

Dear customers of my supermarket,

It is my pleasure to help and assist you in your shopping in any way I can.

However, it would be much appreciated if you could use such words as, "Hello", "Please", and "Thank you", rather than come straight up to my face and say in a cross voice, "Where are the eggs?!"

Kind regards,

Your dairy department head.