Four years of unpaid shifts at Waitrose left him with pride, a routine, and the belief that a job would follow. Then he was told there wasn’t one.
The automatic doors sighed open at 6:45am and the cool air of the dairy aisle rolled out like morning fog. He moved through it with a quiet choreography: rotate the yoghurts, face up the butter, break down the cardboard, nod to the baker hauling trays from the oven. Customers knew his name. Partners did too; they’d tap his shoulder for a quick hand on the tills when a coach party swelled the front end. It looked like belonging because, in many ways, it was. He had a name tag for training days, but not a contract. Then came a vacancy. And an email.
When “experience” starts to feel like a promise
His first day was meant to be simple. A supported placement from college, one morning a week on produce to build confidence, and a cup of tea after. The manager showed him where the aprons lived and said, “Take your time, you’ll get the hang of it,” which he did. Soon he knew which pallets could be done in twenty minutes and which would eat an hour, and he picked up extra mornings because the team liked having him around.
By year two, he had a mental map of the whole shop. He could point you to the pomegranate molasses without blinking and had a sixth sense for when someone was lost in Free From. The rhythms of Christmas became muscle memory: mince pies always explode in week three, sprouts always run out a week early, and everyone forgets kitchen foil on the 23rd. He didn’t sign timesheets; he just showed up, on time, because that’s what grown-ups do when people are counting on them.
So when a cashier role opened, he ironed his shirt and wrote a careful application. Interview on Tuesday, a friendly chat across the office desk, a good handshake, then waiting. The rejection arrived on a Thursday afternoon. “We’re grateful for your contribution. On this occasion you have not been successful.” No malice, just a policy-shaped no. HR boxes ticked, criteria unmet, recruitment windows closed. The logic made sense on paper, yet it didn’t square with the reality of four winters on the shop floor.
What’s really happening behind that “no”
Retail isn’t unkind; it’s formal. Roles go live on a portal, shortlists are scored, interviews are scored again, and stores are audited to prove it was fair. If you’ve been around for years without a contract, you still start at zero when the system opens. You might know every beeping quirk of the self-checkouts, but the form wants examples of “influencing across teams.” That gap hurts because it’s invisible. It’s the difference between what you’ve shown and what you can prove.
The store might also be juggling headcount caps, budgets, and the quiet fear of precedent. If they convert one long-term placement into paid hours outside a formal process, it can look like favouritism to others waiting. So managers reach for comfortable phrases—“not this cycle,” “keep doing what you’re doing”—hoping the warmth of continuance softens the sting. It doesn’t. Unpaid work that never becomes paid work starts to feel like a promise that dissolved the moment it was named.
There’s also the knotty line between volunteering, training, and employment. Placements help people learn, and many do lead to jobs. Some don’t, for reasons that aren’t cruel so much as bureaucratic: role profiles change, tills are outsourced to a hiring centre, the shift pattern can’t flex around your college hours. A careful policy can still produce a blunt outcome. And when the outcome lands on someone who’s been quietly carrying baskets for four years, it plays like a story about fairness, not forms.
Turning unpaid graft into a real offer
Keep a simple victories log. Two lines after each shift: what you did, and what it achieved—reduced wastage by rotating dairy, calmed a queue by opening self-checkouts, resolved a complaint by finding a missing item. Over months, that becomes a capability map. When a role opens, you can lift concrete examples straight into bullet points and say, “This is how I already meet your criteria.” It’s not boasting. It’s evidence.
Ask for a pathway, not a favour. A quick, kind corridor chat rarely survives an interview panel. Request a short meeting and a one-page plan with dates: training modules to complete, cross-department exposure, a named buddy, and a time-bound review. If they can’t offer hours, ask for something transferable—till accreditation, health and safety certs, or a written reference that lists tasks, not just adjectives. Let’s be honest: no one actually does that every day. That’s why doing it stands out.
Speak in the language the process understands. Answer their criteria with outcomes, quantify where you can, and show you’ve learned the store’s people side as well as its stock codes. You’re not asking for a favour; you’re making a case.
“I just wanted the badge like everyone else,” he told me. “Not special treatment. Just a yes that meant I belonged.”
- What to ask for in writing: tasks you’re trusted with
- Training you can complete and keep
- A named mentor or buddy
- A review date with clear criteria
- A reference that lists measurable achievements
The part that’s about all of us
We’ve all had that moment when the rules of a place feel more real than the people inside it, and your story—your graft, your small good deeds—suddenly doesn’t count. It’s not just retail. It’s internships that never pay, trials that stretch too long, “experience” that tilts into something else. Policies are there to be fair to everyone, yet they can flatten the very work they’re meant to recognise.
His four years weren’t wasted. He learned pace, patience, and the sly art of seeing things before they break. He helped strangers on drizzly Thursdays feel a little less alone. He knows he’s worth a contract, whether it’s under the soft lights of Waitrose or somewhere less romantic than a well-faced fruit wall. The question isn’t whether he deserved a job; it’s how we build routes where that answer isn’t left to chance.
| Point clé | Détail | Intérêt pour le lecteur |
|---|---|---|
| Experience isn’t evidence by itself | Keep a log of tasks and outcomes you can lift into applications | Transforms “I helped” into proof you can be scored on |
| Ask for a pathway, not promises | One-page plan with training, buddy, and review date | Moves from goodwill to a time-bound route to paid work |
| Match the process, humanely | Answer criteria with measurable results and people skills | Bridges the gap between what you do and what HR needs to see |
FAQ :
- Is unpaid work like this legal in the UK?Volunteering and short work placements can be lawful when there’s no obligation to turn up and no promise of pay. Length and duties matter, and trial shifts are expected to be brief and clearly linked to assessment.
- How can I turn a placement into a contract?Request a meeting, bring a one-page evidence log, map your examples to the job criteria, and ask for a written pathway with a review date and training you can complete.
- What if I’m rejected after a long placement?Ask for specific feedback tied to the scoring, request a reference listing tasks you’ve done, and apply widely while continuing to build measurable examples.
- Should I stop volunteering if there’s no job?Only you can judge the value. If you’re learning and gaining references, set a time limit and a review point so your effort remains purposeful.
- What can stores do differently?Be transparent about pathways, time-limit unpaid placements, convert long-term regulars into paid bank hours where possible, and write references that recognise real contribution.
Four years of regular shifts without a contract? That hurts. Experience shouldn’t evaporate at the application portal. The “evidence” vs “experience” gap is real, but surely managers could sign off a pathway sooner. He deserved a fair shot—at least some paid bank hours.