Cashier Number One Please

I am aware of how ridiculous this is going to sound, and especially as I have just got out of bed where I was warm and comfortable to write this. I just couldn’t get bollards out of my head, and therefore sleep was out of the question until these thoughts were excised.

I have talked before, possibly at length, about the sorts of things I miss from home, mainly in regard to food. The ridiculous cravings we have for Angel Delight are nothing compared to other deep seated yearnings, for more well, bizarre phenomena.

The streets of America sound different. Obviously people talk in a different way, but that is easy to get used to. In fact now if I hear a non-American accent, my curiosity is instantly peaked as I try to work out where this intruder is from. It even takes me a while to work out that I am listening to a fellow country man. As much as I hate to admit this, I have indeed confused Brits and Australians. I know, I know…

As well as the accents, there are the sounds of big trains (notably different from a small train noises of course,) the distant hum of the Freeway and the squawk of various sirens in the distance, echoing long and loud down straight and wide streets. There is also of course my weekly world war two siren testing the emergency warning system, which I think I have just about got used to now.

But what does seem to be in short supply in the general din of this country are the familiar sounds of the likes of “Caution, Bollards in Motion,” “Cashier Number Two Please,” or the auditory treat “This vehicle is reversing.” I miss every one of those computer generated mildly smug and irritating phrases. Unconsciously, perhaps in order to comfort ourselves, Mike and I have started to say them out loud to each other, in the private of our own home, but tone, syllable, inflection, and pitch perfect. My particular favourite is the Post Office and possibly Argos, cashier beckoning instruction. I have become so accurate in my portrayal, you could be forgiven for thinking that you were in a post office in Huyton, Liverpool, in your lunch hour queuing to post a parcel watching your free time slowly ebb away.

Since meeting a man in Safeway who actually swooned when I spoke and who assured me that I should get a job in voice over work, I am seriously considering going into shops and trying out my new directional phrase. I think this will become a most profitable endeavour since we have noticed here that they actually employ people to stand at the front of the queue and tell you when the next cashier is free. Seriously. THAT much money is wasted. For, say a year’s salary, I could record my voice telling the soon to be overcome crowds which cashier was ready to serve them. It would be both more efficient and such a euphoric experience for some, that they would not consider shopping anywhere else. In fact, if they ever found themselves living in a different country, they will also rather curiously find I'm sure that they miss the comfort of my voice, and literally cannot sleep because of it.