Protestors against zero hours contracts gather outside a Hastings shop
A little over a decade ago, I received a phone call offering me a part-time job in a nearby high street shop. Having sent in the application on a whim, with little expectation of success, it was a pleasant shock. My previous work experience amounted to Saturday jobs burning my hands on unwieldy coffee machines, and trying not to drop fried breakfasts while winding my way through scores of tables.
So the first day, with five other women being inducted, was a moment of tentative excitement. There was a uniform, a generous staff discount, and a large staff room upstairs. We were told, matter-of-factly, that we were all on “zero hours contracts” though later we all confessed outside that we had no idea what that meant in practice.
