We take you back to 1997, when Franklins supermarkets were fresh AF
Franklins Supermarket Queanbeyan came into my life when I was 16 and deep in my butterfly clips, Doc Martens and dewy makeup era. I’d had a Sunday job arranging Beanie Babies at Cardeaux, but Franklins was my first ‘real’ job.
The discount supermarket chain was new to Q-Town and had filled the huge gap in the market left by the closure of Jewel Food Barn. Our upper middle bogan family had survived the interest rate hikes of the early nineties but my dad Wayne was still a fiend for a bargain (he once used a neon yellow Calippo wrapper plastered around his wrist to gain entry to the VIP section at a Pearl Jam concert) so he was stoked when I got the job and he could use my staff discount.
By the late 1990s, Franklins supermarkets were popping up all over Australia and had upgraded the former No Frills stores to Franklins Fresh stores, unveiling a new logo, which I was horrified to have to wear on a trucker hat (not compatible with my butterfly clips or curling wand-curated hairstyles) and an itchy knitted black jumper over a white dress shirt.
I tried to revamp the uniform by wearing my Supre skants and chunky black shoes. Which was also convenient because I would then only have to do a quick top change, fix my hat hair and grab my Nokia 3310 from my locker to be ready for a night out at Moose.
The Queanbeyan store opened as part of a revamp and extension that was built in the upper carpark (where the Reject Shop and Best and Less is now).
It had a deli, a butcher and a produce section and staff quickly became identified by their store area, ‘Holly from checkout’ or ‘Dale from produce’. Unsurprisingly a few Franklins Fresh romances flourished and I think even some marriages and children were produced (a reality TV show idea right there).
Most of my friend group already had jobs there when I came onboard, so most shifts just one big gossip sesh. Between the warehouse-looking (budget) aisles we’d catch up on who was going out with who and who was heading out to Platinum nightclub on Saturday night.
Josh B and Josh M were the checkout boys who that brought all the LOLs. Both boys were from Canberra and they loved to give commentary on Franklins clientele. Us Queanbeyan girls ate it up. Cowboy Tex would come in to talk conspiracy theories with the teenagers too.
I quickly learnt the difference between gala apples and red delicious and Valencia and navel oranges. I could also see a packed trolley heading toward the checkout and know within $10 how much it was going to cost. This was back when a fortnightly grocery shop was somewhere between $100- $150, can you even imagine.
I was a whizz at packing bags; frozens, toiletries and dry goods all separated obviously. My older millennial self now scowls at the checkout and bagging skills displayed by young people today, and I love to flex my scanning skills for my kids at the self-serve checkout.
We learnt skills for life working for Franklins, including the difference between Alpine Lights and Stradbroke Gold. We had cigarettes at our checkout in overhead storage – absolutely unheard of today. Cigarette packaging was also on display and had tranquil pictures of island sandscapes and boats: not a rotten tooth or lung in sight.
My unrivalled knowledge of cigarette brands and fresh produce led to a promotion of sorts, working in the store office. It was the secret place where all of the money capsules were sent up in the clear tubes (just like Augustus in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory).
I was pretty chuffed with myself mainly because I could take the God forsaken trucker hat off but also “Holly from the office” just had a classier ring to it than ‘”Holly from the checkouts”. As an 18-year-old I was responsible for the combination to the safe and balancing the entire store at the end of the day, which, looking back, is a little mortifying. But not as mortifying as sometimes ripping a hangover spew into the wastebasket while dolling out cash on a Sunday open shift (sorry Mum). A massive serve of chips and gravy from Uptown Central on my lunch break fixed me right up though.
My memories of Franklins are now just a blurry fever dream of fluorescent lighting and the same three 1980s songs played on a loop. I do remember the day I got my tongue pierced and turned up to work. I couldn’t talk without a lisp and had to chew on ice my whole shift. I also remember my boyfriend at the time (yes he had frosted tips AND an eyebrow piercing) would play the claw machine and win me stuffed toys while he waited for me to finish my shift.
Dad would pick me up sometimes from the back alley behind Soul Pattinsons Chemist; he was always half an hour late and always needed to go back into the store for something obscure like ice cream cones or Space Food sticks. He loved introducing himself to every single staff member, reminding them he was my Dad and never forgetting the all-important staff discount number.
One time after closing, the night packers were stacking shelves and an armed intruder held up the store. All I remember is the staff saying that they had to hide in the freezers. It was a really big deal. Or maybe that too was just a fever dream.
Inevitably the Queanbeyan Franklins supermarket closed in the early naughties, like so many others across Australia. I guess all those signs and meetings about stock ‘shrinkage’ turned out to be right. We were all offered jobs at Woolworths but I was only one of a handful that moved across – and was lucky to be immediately promoted to the liquor section. But that folks is a story for another time.
About the Author: Holly Winchester
Part Jennifer Coolidge, part Jennifer Garner (gaudy and geeky), Holly idolises Dolly Parton and Princess Di and loves NRL. When she's not creating killer content, you’ll find Holly at the Maccas drive thru getting her chai latte fix or buying 1990s memorabilia for the walls of her Googong home. Specialist subject: the Woolies carpark.
