I had a Saurday job from about 14, serving and stacking shelves in a small grocery shop up the road from my house. Sometimes I was allowed to cut the cheeses which were under a glass dome with the wire cutter and wrap it in a piece in greaseproof paper also weigh and package bacon. Best of all ringing the shopping up on the till. I had to be able to do some mental arithmetic working out the correct change. The manageress was there looking over my shoulder to make sure I was doing it correctly
I lived in a Surrey town that had a number of, what were previously known as mental homes, or asylums, now all closed. Quite a few of the patients who weren't dangerous, some suffering from wartime shell shock I was told, came out and about at the weekends. One such man came in to the shop every Saturday afternoon to buy a fruit cake, he had a lot of nervous tics. One of his rituals was to ask the manageress to go through the ingredients with him, she could have given a masterclass in the art of patience, she was very kind always giving him the time to give chapter and verse on that, he could tie her up for ages, in his desire to deconstruct the cake and its entire ingredients.
I saved up my earnings for a coveted pair of boots and Mary Quant make up.