On October 1, I clocked in for what felt like my millionth retail shift— only this one was at the Motley Bauhaus in Carlton, and I wasn’t getting paid.

Instead, I attended the Melbourne Fringe Festival performance of Would You Like to Speak to My Manager? The Trials and Tribulations of a Retail Worker, hoping to laugh at my own retail struggles: the eroded patience, endless apologies, and customers who mistake politeness for servitude.

Written and directed by Siobhan Paterson and performed by Eimear Cunningham, the show promised a rare kind of laugh and cathartic release born from recognition — an almost shared therapy session for anyone who has ever endured the fluorescent purgatory of customer service.

Yet despite the familiarity of its premise, I wasn’t entirely sold.

The performance was set with a minimalist design — one performer, a counter, and a handful of props — and echoed the monotony of retail life. At times, the sparse setup encouraged audience participation (although there were only maybe 15 or so of us), adding a layer of intimacy. However, this sometimes blurred the line between performance and participation, creating moments of awkward uncertainty in the room. It was a bold risk, even if it didn’t always pay off.

The show itself had all the elements of a great Fringe production: a clever concept, painfully recognisable scenarios, and a performer with skill and stamina to embody retail’s absurd rhythms. Cunningham’s physical comedy was sharp and confident, some of the night’s biggest laughs came from her ability to shift characters swiftly. The man in my row, whose booming chortles turned my seat into a 4D experience, certainly found amusement in every exaggerated gesture. Even his enthusiasm, however, couldn’t disguise that the show itself struggled to tie its ideas together.

Cunningham’s performance carried the piece, though the material sometimes restrained her, particularly through its deliberately repetitive structure. This was captured most strikingly when she turned a giant key in her side before re-entering the bright world of retail — a vivid embodiment of emotional automation. It perfectly captured the way workers must wind up their politeness each shift, no matter how hollow it feels. Unfortunately, the metaphor’s strength waned as the show unfolded. Subsequent sketches and tangents diluted its impact, and while the motif reappeared at the conclusion – the key now unlocking a door releasing her from the retail cycle – the emotional weight had softened.

The satire of clueless managers and rude customers hit familiar notes but rarely moved beyond cliché. The script leaned heavily on the “smiling yet dying inside” response without fully exploring the deeper exhaustion and dehumanisation behind it. Retail work isn’t always funny because it’s absurd, but rather because it is true, and those truths deserve more space to breathe.

I walked in expecting to feel seen, to sit amongst the shared trauma and laugh at the pain. Instead, I left feeling as though the show almost understood the reality of retail but remained unfinished. The energy felt scattered, like processing a transaction only for the till to freeze halfway through: you’re left hanging, waiting for that satisfying “approved” beep that never comes. 

Ultimately, Would You Like to Speak to My Manager? feels like a draft that could become more cohesive and emotionally resonant. The foundations are strong — the concept is clever, the performer magnetic — but the script needs tightening to truly capture the emotional complexity it gestures toward.

As a retail worker I sought to feel understood, maybe even vindicated. Instead, I left slightly entertained but disconnected — like a customer handed store credit when they really wanted a refund, I wouldn’t rave about this one.