Behind the register of a well known chain of convenience stores in Europe l subtly observe the alcoholics who make their way to the refrigerator in what I can only summarize as determined shame. Systematically this brings about the smell of used diapers and I can't help but think, Is this what death smells like? Social death at least. Why then, are the many other consumers of cigarettes not ashamed when they ask me to press the button on the icon of their favorite brand? It seems smoking is more romantic, philosophical.

This type of work is not for me as I will ask myself these types of questions. Too emotional and too distracted though there's no shame to be had in performing it but I have to keep my mind busy with something else while I'm counting money, filling racks or baking industrially frozen bread. My thoughts go to the games I will play during lunch break, the games I will play during the evening or the games I played in the morning. In fact at times I try to act as if I'm playing a game. On the outside I make it look like I'm driven by a strong sense of all-encompassing work ethic. That's why I love Sundays and its rows and rows of customers and thus hundreds of articles which I've come to scan rapidly like someone's keeping track and yelling: 'HIGH SCORE!'