What is it like working on the frontline in a shop during the coronavirus scare?

How do you cope with angry members of the public shouting in your face because they can't have what they want?

Kay Speed is manager of a Tesco store in Sheerness on the Isle of Sheppey and has seen it all. She has even been driven at by a man in a mobility scooter.

After the initial spate of panic-buying, she says most shoppers are settling down.

And the store has introduced several measures to help, including queuing at 2m intervals, cleaning stations to wipe trolley handles and a one-trolley-one-person rule.

But in an eye-opening account of life on the frontline Kay, 52, has let us share an extract from her diary, written at the height of the shopping frenzy.

Her candid account of working on the shop-floor reveals what it was really like trying to police panicking shoppers as they pushed past staff to grab goods from the shelves.

On Wednesday last week she wrote: "Been at work for 13 hours today in an industry which is not allowed to close or work from home.

"My team of 250 are at work every day feeding the nation. No masks, no closing the doors or serving through a hatch. We have been praised and we have been abused to the point of bringing us to tears.

"I will protect my team from that abuse but wouldn’t it be great if the people of Great Britain understood that we are on the frontline and deserve to be treated with some respect?

"I am extremely proud of my workforce. Please remember we are human beings going through this coronavirus as well and also have loved ones we worry about.

"I have witnessed the best and the worst in people.

"Why is it that some think it is OK to get in our faces and continuously abuse us because they cannot buy 12 dozen packs of toilet rolls?

"You may not think we are important but we are the ones feeding the nation. We are providing help for the elderly every day who we find in tears because they are frightened and lonely.

"We are supporting the NHS who will save our lives.

"Boris has politely asked the nation to do specific things. He has agreed to look after people and companies that are in a place through no thought of their own. I know the unknown is very scary but the government is doing its best. But the public are not.

"If you are not in the frontline, do what is asked.

"I fear that because I have to go to work and am surrounded by heaven knows what, I will bring it home to my grandchildren who I have to look after so my daughter, who is also a frontline worker, can go to work.

"We can't stay home and stay safe. I am told by the government I am needed. I am needed to protect you from starvation."

This is just one day from her diary:

4.30 Leave home.

5.00 Arrive at work. People queueing already in the rain. We don’t open for another hour! Gather bits and bobs together to help the elderly later in the day.

6.00 A manager who should be on holiday comes in to support. I am so pleased to see her. (Coronavirus? What’s that? We are sneezed and coughed over by hundreds on a daily basis. We are immune, apparently. It was only today we were classed as frontline workers.)

6.10 A man wearing a mask and driving a mobility scooter screams at me that he should come in first.

6.15 He tries to take me out with his scooter because I am a "*****."

6.16 I turn into one extremely angry fishwife but without the swear words because I am still trying really hard to be professional. Situation resolved; first battle of the day won.

6.18 Little chin-wobble.

'He tries to take me out with his scooter'

6.20 Totally back in control.

6.30 Onwards. It’s OK. No real need to raise my voice. But we now turn into the food customs and excise team ensuring every customer has followed the rationing guidelines,

9.30 Cafe staff make me a nice hot chocolate and a sausage sandwich. Lovely.

9.40 Forget the hot chocolate. Back into battle with someone who wants more than his chocolate ration and thinks it is OK to be abusive to my checkout team.

9.50 Flanked at a distance by my amazing managers, situation resolved. Another battle won. Go back to finish the sausage sandwich but it has been thrown away as they thought I would be too angry to finish it. They were right.

10.00 Recruitment starts because we need an army to get us through this. Computer chooses this time to freeze, bloody thing.

10.40 Lots of tears of joy from a pensioner because we are giving her six eggs and two toilet rolls. Poor thing.

11.00 A cashier becomes overwhelmed with the constant abuse. I comfort her. Think we both needed it, to be honest.

12.49 Thought I might go to the loo and find two colleagues upset in the toilets. We all have a little chin-wobble, square our shoulders and get back out there.

1.40 Stop for lunch and burn my toastie. Start again with another one. Then find a chunk of chocolate in the bottom of my bag and sit on a conference call for an hour thinking 'I wish I had more chocolate'.

We are informed we are to open an hour early for the NHS workers to come in and shop, along with my staff, in a little peace. This will need eight of us to police as the queues for normal shopping begin building an hour before we open anyway. The managers volunteer to give up their day to do this. Plan complete.

Rest of the day we tidy up the one bottle of washing-up liquid and four tubs of caraway seeds because that’s all we have left and continue to debate with the people who just don’t want to be rationed.

Watch Boris Johnson speech on the telly and think: "OMG, with all the pubs and restaurants closed we will be even busier with more abuse on its way."

6.15 Put coat on as we have sold the washing-up liquid, and the caraway seeds are being as good as gold. No need for another tidy up.

6.20 Quick chat with late managers.

6.30 Walk across shop floor and deal with another person who thinks we are idiots.

7.00 Help an elderly couple.

7.10 Walk to car. The wind blows my scarf across the car park so I have to run like a gazelle, or maybe a hippo, in my trusty Clarke’s shoes to get it. (Thank goodness the Brighton Marathon is cancelled as my training has gone straight out of the window).

8.00 I made it home.

Bed time. Prepare for a new day and a new battle.

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