11th March, 2008 (6:29 pm)
The Day With the Pondering
There’s a massive queue in Tesco. All the checkout lanes are packed, even the unreliable self-service ones, so S and I settle at the back of the 10 Items Or Less lane juggling our goodies - sushi for me, a spiderman lunchbag for him - as we wait it out. I’m already late for work, having been longer at the Speech Therapist with S than I’d expected, but if I don’t buy S a spiderman lunchbag after my promise that I would THE WORLD WILL IMPLODE. So I stand there muttering to myself, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other and glancing down every 3.3 seconds to check that my little man’s still there. (I have an irrational fear of S being snatched - well, he is gorgeous - so I spend the entire time clinging desperately to his hand while he huffs and puffs and rolls his eyes, like I’m the most uncoolest, rubbish mummy EVA.)
Time ticks on, and we’re still there. Only occasionally we shuffle forward. The old dear in front of me is glaring at me in that bewildering way old dears do - as though my very presence is offending her - and then just as I look up from my 3049834th glance at the chocolatey strands of my little boy’s hair, I catch an absent glimpse in the trolley of the guy in front of her.
It looks like a shopping list for one. A newspaper. A tiny, sad-looking loaf of bread. Two bananas, a pint of milk. There’s a small packet of bacon, one plain yoghurt tub and one solitary danish pastry. Then, perhaps a calculated afterthought, comes the finale - one giant bottle of cheap, supermarket-brand whiskey. It’s massive, dwarfing everything else in the trolley. From one, quick glance at the broken capillaries on his tired face I know that it’s a standard on his list, maybe even a daily, and I wonder what the hell has happened to that man that has him battling the grannies and over-wraught mothers in Tescos first thing on a Tuesday morning - maybe every morning - just for a bottle of cheap whiskey.
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Frightening, isn’t it? The things people go through in life. It’s all too easy to be complacent and think, well, it’s up to him if he wants to drink himself stupid; but there must be a story behind it. Surely no-one drinks like that for the fun of it?
And you’re right about the old lady. Why must they stare like that..?
Comment by sharon — 12 March, 2008 @ 4:24 pm
Yup. It is indeed frightening.
And glad I’m not the only one who spotted the old lady paranoia! . . . !
V xx
Comment by Vixx — 12 March, 2008 @ 10:02 pm
Old women do that all the time, please don’t let me be destined to do the same! I notice the single shoppers, most of them do have one bottle of liquor or a case of beer dwarfing various unhealthy food items. Excellent perception.
Comment by Char — 13 March, 2008 @ 5:00 pm
Oh no, I’m DEFINITELY going to be like that when I’m old - it’s payback, baby!
V xx
Comment by Vixx — 13 March, 2008 @ 7:39 pm
I’ve been known to put the odd bottle of wine in my shopping basket now and then. But I also probably over-compensated by adding lots of fruit and veg just so people didn’t think I was some kind of sad drunkard, LOL.
Comment by sharon — 15 March, 2008 @ 3:47 pm
I think you answered the question before you posed it.. “It looks like a shopping list for one” Bitter divorce, perhaps?
Comment by Jem — 17 March, 2008 @ 10:07 pm