Retail workers are copping increasing amounts of verbal and physical abuse. This lack of respect for staff is likely linked to the rising theft and violence seen in supermarkets.
I was sixteen when I got my first death threat at work.
I was a few hours into my shift and growing weary after a full day at school followed by hours of circling mindlessly around the self-serve area, when a woman I vaguely recognised approached me.
I knew she was a local as I had seen her before in the regional supermarket where I work, so I smiled and asked her how her day was.
Obviously, it was not going well as her response entailed a threat to meet me later in the car park to slit my throat with the knife she had in her backpack.
I took a step back, shocked. I watched as she paid for her items calmly and exited the store. Not only did she leave her receipt behind, but she also left my younger self with a revelation about the reality of working in retail.
People suck.
Over the four years I’ve spent packing grocery bags in a small regional town, there are a few things I’ve come to realise about human behaviour. And they are worryingly connected.
Firstly, people think retail jobs aren’t worthy of respect.
The constant questions like "What are your plans after this?" or "Are you doing anything else besides this?" reiterate the stereotype that working in a retail job isn’t a long-term option.
No, my dream career doesn’t involve the silent judgement of customers' food assortments as they come through my checkout or endlessly explaining the mechanics of the self-serve machines to belligerent individuals, but it doesn’t mean that my job is beneath anyone else’s.
A friend and fellow retail worker* connects with this feeling, describing it as being looked down on by customers.
"I always have people asking me what I want to do", he says, "but what if this is what I want to do?"
Working in a supermarket is seen as a placeholder, a way to earn money until a better offer comes around. And while this may be true for most retail workers — over half of the retail workforce are part-time employees according to the latest analysis of ABS data survey — it’s still a livelihood for many and this quiet snobbery is feeding into larger issues.
And when customers don’t see retail workers as real workers, it makes it easier for them to be disrespected.
This disrespect manifests in many ways. For instance, crime rates in retail stores are surging, with an estimated 5.1 per cent increase in theft-related incidents in the past two years according to the NSW Bureau of Statistics.
Nationally, theft reached a 21-year high last year, with almost 600,000 victims of personal and retail theft reported. Almost half of those thefts — 45 per cent — occurred at a retail location.
This was my second realisation: people have no shame about stealing anymore.
You could blame the cost-of-living crisis or you could blame social media’s contribution to encouraging entitled brats. Whatever it is, this new era of thieves is shocking.
People don’t sneak things anymore — they steal them in plain sight.
I’ve seen boxes of cereal down pants, backpacks brimming with steak, chocolate bars in bra straps — honestly impressive if not so illegal. Around 14 per cent of thefts in 2024/25 were food, topped by liquor (40 per cent of thefts) and clothing and footwear (24 per cent).
It's the lack of shame and the aura of privilege is what strikes me most.
In a recent survey by US organisation LendingTree, American consumers were asked about self-checkout machines and their responses reflect the Australian mindset, too.
Sixty-nine per cent of the 2,000 consumers surveyed agreed that self-checkouts make it easier to steal, and around 27 per cent admitted to purposely stealing through them.
Whether it be not scanning an item correctly or walking straight out of the self-serve area without paying, self-serve machines are more than likely one of the main reasons theft keeps increasing.
There's a lack of respect for retail workers and that has alarming implications.Shutterstock
In some respects, I get it. Groceries are expensive, and we’ve all got to eat. But it’s not the struggling mother sneaking baby formula for her newborn or the homeless man knocking off some bread.
In their latest report, the Australian Retailers Association discovered that the top 10 per cent of offenders were responsible for around 60 per cent of total harm and loss across Australia last year, meaning that these thefts are unlikely to be random.
These are people who feel entitled to steal from billion-dollar corporations, thinking it won’t make a dent in the grand scheme of things.
Yet what’s missing from this logic is that it isn’t the billionaire owner or shareholders who bear the brunt of the theft. It’s the minimum wage workers who cop it.
When individuals are asked to open their bags for checking, often they’ll explode with fury at the store worker.
If there is an unexpected item in the bagging area, customers lose their mind, complaining about the government watching them through cameras in the screen.
Rudeness is part of working in retail. It may as well be in the job description. But when the comments keep coming, and the rudeness turns to rage, it becomes harder to shake.
According to the Australian Retailers Association, data from retailers using crime reporting software Auror showed violent crime in retail stores was up a staggering 30 per cent in 2024 compared to the year before. Worse, incidents involving weapons up by more than 40 per cent.
Following the release of this data, Auror’s Senior Director of Trust and Safety, Nick McDonnell released a public statement sharing his concern for retail workers.
"What’s confronting," he said, "is that one in four retail crime events last year involved violence, intimidation or threats."
Even in regional towns, these statistics ring true. From being spat on to being too afraid to walk to my car after a shift, I have experienced the lasting mental impacts of being targeted at work.
This isn’t exclusive to the supermarket where I work. Across the road at its rival, that friend of mine* has seen his coworkers in tears and getting "visibly distressed when a customer has been aggressive towards them."
"I know people who have considered leaving, or who have left because they feel that it’s too much." he says.
In any setting, verbal abuse in the workplace is taxing, but the familiarity that comes with living in a small town makes it worse.
And this was my final realisation: just because they know you doesn’t mean they’ll be nice.
Being undermined by your best friend’s grandmother over the price of avocados is embarrassing for both me and her when I’m likely to run into her at the shops again the next day.
And the reasoning for their rudeness is rather ironic.
The conversations about the death of customer service surface in almost every interaction, supported by arguments about the increasing amount of self-serve machines and the lack of enthusiasm from the few remaining checkout operators.
Perhaps if they reflected on statistics that prove almost 90 per cent of all retail workers are subjected to abuse including physical violence, they would understand why customer service is supposedly dying.
I love working at my regional supermarket. I hear stories from customers about their lives, and build connections with them that I wouldn’t be able to in any other role.
But I am still seen as just a checkout chick whose dignity lies in the hands of these customers I have grown so fond of.
When we don’t value retail jobs, we don’t value the humans undertaking the work.
And this could be why rates of violence and theft are increasing: a lack of respect for both job and worker.
So, before you scoff at that self-serve operator or threaten to slit the checkout chick’s throat, take a second to think about the human wearing the retail uniform.
Because no one deserves to fear for their life when they're simply doing their job.
Retail workers are copping increasing amounts of verbal and physical abuse. This lack of respect for staff is likely linked to the rising theft and violence seen in supermarkets.
I was sixteen when I got my first death threat at work.
I was a few hours into my shift and growing weary after a full day at school followed by hours of circling mindlessly around the self-serve area, when a woman I vaguely recognised approached me.
I knew she was a local as I had seen her before in the regional supermarket where I work, so I smiled and asked her how her day was.
Obviously, it was not going well as her response entailed a threat to meet me later in the car park to slit my throat with the knife she had in her backpack.
I took a step back, shocked. I watched as she paid for her items calmly and exited the store. Not only did she leave her receipt behind, but she also left my younger self with a revelation about the reality of working in retail.
People suck.
Over the four years I’ve spent packing grocery bags in a small regional town, there are a few things I’ve come to realise about human behaviour. And they are worryingly connected.
The constant questions like "What are your plans after this?" or "Are you doing anything else besides this?" reiterate the stereotype that working in a retail job isn’t a long-term option.
No, my dream career doesn’t involve the silent judgement of customers' food assortments as they come through my checkout or endlessly explaining the mechanics of the self-serve machines to belligerent individuals, but it doesn’t mean that my job is beneath anyone else’s.
A friend and fellow retail worker* connects with this feeling, describing it as being looked down on by customers.
"I always have people asking me what I want to do", he says, "but what if this is what I want to do?"
Working in a supermarket is seen as a placeholder, a way to earn money until a better offer comes around. And while this may be true for most retail workers — over half of the retail workforce are part-time employees according to the latest analysis of ABS data survey — it’s still a livelihood for many and this quiet snobbery is feeding into larger issues.
And when customers don’t see retail workers as real workers, it makes it easier for them to be disrespected.
This disrespect manifests in many ways. For instance, crime rates in retail stores are surging, with an estimated 5.1 per cent increase in theft-related incidents in the past two years according to the NSW Bureau of Statistics.
Nationally, theft reached a 21-year high last year, with almost 600,000 victims of personal and retail theft reported. Almost half of those thefts — 45 per cent — occurred at a retail location.
You could blame the cost-of-living crisis or you could blame social media’s contribution to encouraging entitled brats. Whatever it is, this new era of thieves is shocking.
People don’t sneak things anymore — they steal them in plain sight.
I’ve seen boxes of cereal down pants, backpacks brimming with steak, chocolate bars in bra straps — honestly impressive if not so illegal. Around 14 per cent of thefts in 2024/25 were food, topped by liquor (40 per cent of thefts) and clothing and footwear (24 per cent).
It's the lack of shame and the aura of privilege is what strikes me most.
In a recent survey by US organisation LendingTree, American consumers were asked about self-checkout machines and their responses reflect the Australian mindset, too.
Sixty-nine per cent of the 2,000 consumers surveyed agreed that self-checkouts make it easier to steal, and around 27 per cent admitted to purposely stealing through them.
Whether it be not scanning an item correctly or walking straight out of the self-serve area without paying, self-serve machines are more than likely one of the main reasons theft keeps increasing.
In some respects, I get it. Groceries are expensive, and we’ve all got to eat. But it’s not the struggling mother sneaking baby formula for her newborn or the homeless man knocking off some bread.
In their latest report, the Australian Retailers Association discovered that the top 10 per cent of offenders were responsible for around 60 per cent of total harm and loss across Australia last year, meaning that these thefts are unlikely to be random.
These are people who feel entitled to steal from billion-dollar corporations, thinking it won’t make a dent in the grand scheme of things.
Yet what’s missing from this logic is that it isn’t the billionaire owner or shareholders who bear the brunt of the theft. It’s the minimum wage workers who cop it.
When individuals are asked to open their bags for checking, often they’ll explode with fury at the store worker.
If there is an unexpected item in the bagging area, customers lose their mind, complaining about the government watching them through cameras in the screen.
According to the Australian Retailers Association, data from retailers using crime reporting software Auror showed violent crime in retail stores was up a staggering 30 per cent in 2024 compared to the year before. Worse, incidents involving weapons up by more than 40 per cent.
Following the release of this data, Auror’s Senior Director of Trust and Safety, Nick McDonnell released a public statement sharing his concern for retail workers.
"What’s confronting," he said, "is that one in four retail crime events last year involved violence, intimidation or threats."
Even in regional towns, these statistics ring true. From being spat on to being too afraid to walk to my car after a shift, I have experienced the lasting mental impacts of being targeted at work.
This isn’t exclusive to the supermarket where I work. Across the road at its rival, that friend of mine* has seen his coworkers in tears and getting "visibly distressed when a customer has been aggressive towards them."
"I know people who have considered leaving, or who have left because they feel that it’s too much." he says.
In any setting, verbal abuse in the workplace is taxing, but the familiarity that comes with living in a small town makes it worse.
Being undermined by your best friend’s grandmother over the price of avocados is embarrassing for both me and her when I’m likely to run into her at the shops again the next day.
And the reasoning for their rudeness is rather ironic.
The conversations about the death of customer service surface in almost every interaction, supported by arguments about the increasing amount of self-serve machines and the lack of enthusiasm from the few remaining checkout operators.
Perhaps if they reflected on statistics that prove almost 90 per cent of all retail workers are subjected to abuse including physical violence, they would understand why customer service is supposedly dying.
I love working at my regional supermarket. I hear stories from customers about their lives, and build connections with them that I wouldn’t be able to in any other role.
But I am still seen as just a checkout chick whose dignity lies in the hands of these customers I have grown so fond of.
When we don’t value retail jobs, we don’t value the humans undertaking the work.
And this could be why rates of violence and theft are increasing: a lack of respect for both job and worker.
So, before you scoff at that self-serve operator or threaten to slit the checkout chick’s throat, take a second to think about the human wearing the retail uniform.
Because no one deserves to fear for their life when they're simply doing their job.
* name withheld
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