Simon Parke - Shelf Life: How I Found The Meaning of Life Stacking Supermarket Shelves

CONTENTS

About the Book

A vicar for twenty years, Simon Parke called time on his dog collar to work in a supermarket. Here, between stacking vegetables, chasing thieves and facing furious customers on the tills, he discovered a wonderful cast of characters wishing to be of assistance, but wishing also to be somewhere else.

From Sonny the security guard who cant face conflict to the voluptuous Faith who is generous with her wares, Shelf Life is a hilarious shopumentary of the highs and lows of retail dedicated to anyone who loves life and hopes for more, no matter where they find themselves.

About the Author

Simon Parke was a priest in the Church of England for twenty years. He then worked for three years in a supermarket and is now a freelance author. He has been writing professionally for twenty-five years, producing scripts for TV and radio, including for Spitting Image and Simon Mayo. His most recent books are The Beautiful Life and The Enneagram: a private session with the worlds greatest psychologist. Simon runs and leads retreats, meets with people looking for a new way in their life, and follows the beautiful game. For more information, please see www.simonparke.com.

Also by Simon Parke

Pippas Progress

Solitude

One Minute Mindfulness

The Journey Home

Conversations with Jesus of Nazareth

Conversations with Vincent Van Gogh

Conversations with Meister Eckhart

Conversations with Leo Tolstoy

Conversations with Arthur Conan Doyle

One-Minute Mystic

The Enneagram

The Beautiful Life

Forsaking the Family

The Learning of Love

Origins

Another Bloody Retreat

To Paul Carter
a good man in the newspaper trade;
all kindness, soul and skill.

A S LIGHT C HANGE OF D IRECTION

In which a priest becomes an ex-priest and Winston makes plans to leave again. Michael the lorry driver mucks in; Bryn eyes up Faith; its tales of the unexpected in a bedroom at 2.00 am and caffeine makes all things well.

PEOPLE SAY THAT I have changed direction, though Im not sure this is true. Certainly I was a priest in the Church of England for twenty years, before becoming a supermarket worker. But really, whats the difference? Roles may change, but unless we do, things are pretty much the same. We take ourselves wherever we go, and attract or repel life accordingly.

Take Winston, who is standing to my left on the till, as we face the lunchtime rush. He tells me he once had an ambition to be rich and married by thirty-three. He is now forty, single and poor, so on the face of it, things have not worked out as planned. Hes not a happy man, and imagines a change of job will help: I need a change of direction, Simon, he says. A big change of direction.

What will you do?

I dont know, but whatever it is, it will be a whole lot better than this. This is not what I want to be doing.

But he isnt unhappy because of the job. Hes not even unhappy because hes poor or single, for he had a propensity for unhappiness way before that. Hes unhappy because hes Winston; or a version of Winston at least. No external change of direction would make any difference to the congealed rage he keeps sealed inside.

No, I didnt expect to be a shelf-filler at the age of fifty; or standing on the till, watched by suspicious customer eyes. I suppose Id imagined Id be a priest for life burying, marrying, baptising. And organising the increasingly big annual parish pantomime. Fantastic! Id even preached at St Pauls Cathedral a couple of times, and for a short while had aspirations to be a bishop. Imagine it. A pointy hat and robes dripping with gold! How grand it all might have been. Instead, I am rearranging organic carrots, scraping the scum off the banana stand and date-rotating the fruit salads, because after twenty years, I knew the adventure was over. It was time to leave the institutional Church.

Perhaps from the outside it looked like a choice. To many, it was perhaps a shocking choice, and a dereliction of duty. There was anger at my decision anger from those who need you to be something for them. The roles we play can give other peoples lives a semblance of order, and when roles change, or are abandoned, it can be unsettling for the fragile; those who struggle to manage their inner chaos. With no inner pillars of their own, they need others to be strong pillars for them. Such folk are not helped by resigning priests: Once a priest, always a priest surely?

Has he lost his faith?

Makes you wonder, doesnt it?

Such a waste.

And rather sad, dont you think?

I remember the time when a vocation was a vocation.

Unhappy with his job? In my day, you just got on with it.

From the inside, however, it was no choice at all. When your home is on fire, you leave. I wouldnt call that a choice. It is something you simply do. And so I simply did I left the church, my security, my home and my keeper and took up stacking shelves in a supermarket, because, like Winston, I couldnt find anything else either. It was all simply mad but happy also. The simple mind knows no obstacles.

There are others here who might wish for themselves another direction. Take our lorry driver, Michael. Lorry drivers are honorary members of the shop community, staggering in early after their night drives looking for a toilet, a hot drink and a chat. Each driver must take ridicule for the football team they support, for football is the language spoken here.

Sprechen sie Fussball?

They all do except Michael. Michael doesnt support a team, and refreshingly doesnt pretend to either. His voice is educated and professional. He worked in IT for twenty-five years, before he was made redundant, when the government pulled out of their contracts. He still rages eloquently against the government. Fine words butter no parsnips, however, and so at the age of fifty-one he spent 2,500 of his own money to train for a HGV licence. He is now the unlikeliest of lorry drivers, without a trace of brown sauce on his shirt.

Michael is mucking in because of the way things have fallen. As he says: If God gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

This is so. You may not thank God for the lemons. Indeed, you may say, Fuck the lemons, frankly. But the bills still need paying. So in middle age, Michael left his desk and learned lorry driving . Whether he has learned anything about himself, I dont know.

And Winston, as we know, is also on the move; always about to hand in his notice: Do not expect to see me here for much longer, Simon, says Winston.

Im not holding my breath, though. There are five seasons every year: summer, autumn, winter, spring and Winston leaving. In fact, I am surrounded by leavers. Leaving, leaving everywhere yet everyone still here.

In dull fatherly fashion, I always say the same thing: The manager may be a complete shit. But consider your rent. Make sure you have something else in the bag before making the jump; because its not easy when you dont.

I speak with feeling when I say this. I had nothing lined up when I left the priesthood, not realising how unemployable a former clergyman is. My writing earned me a little, but was generally rejected by agents, publishers and newspapers alike. I took a cleaning job, and coached one or two Somali children who were falling behind. And I found myself absurdly happy on discovering a fiver on the pavement a telling moment in my fall from grace. I had traipsed around shop after shop, leaving my CV, but found no interest. They didnt even get back to me to say No. They said theyd be in contact but never were. I tried one or two fast food outlets as well. But on finding the manager of one to be about twelve, and the staff considerably younger, I knew I was in the wrong place. When someone did actually send a rejection letter, tears came to my eyes in gratitude gratitude that they had gone to such trouble: Thank you for turning me down like this! And headed notepaper as well?! Youre so kind.