The Bread

The bread. The bread. The doughnuts? No. The bread. What about the M&M cookies? They call to me with their little chocolatey voices. Their multicoloured bodies laid to rest amongst a grave of golden brown dough. Yes. Those will do nicely. I will take some of those. In walks a guy right out of a Dolce and Gabbana advert in GQ magazine. I guess he's looking for animal produce. Our little friend saunters up to the deli counter and enquires as to the brand label of the hairnet that the plump little lady behind the glass cases of meat is wearing. At least that's what I imagine he said, I can't say I was listening. Anyway, the bread. The guy thankfully exits my view and I'm left to wonder if he actually paid money for that shirt, of if it came with his Burberry sweater. I make a b-line for the checkouts. I exchange a crumpled bank note for my goods in a plastic bag and onto the streets once again I do venture. The sky is in it's own shade of steel, looking down on us all with a bored expression. I thread my best through the clatter alongside swiftly moving clumps of machinery and metal and hit the steps. A wide set that lead downwards like a gently sloping grey hill. Across the Mall, a cheeky wink in the direction of Her Majesty's abode, and it's into the park for me. Crunchy gravel and jumbled laughter from bohemian wannabes kindles my soundtrack of general city noise and my hunger ceases to be theoretical. Dead candy shells are calling. S.H.

The Supermarket Thing

Does the supermarket thing really work? You know the score. You're walking along, minding your own business in the deli section when before your view there slides one of the most charming looking girls, or as the case may be, guy, that you have seen in recent memory. You clear your throat with sandpaper comfort and set about chancing introductions. "Oh, fancy that, we use the same brand of cottage cheese. Shall we go out?" Of course I now it's probably not that simple. But then again, it might be. The question that remains for me is wether or not it is humanly possible for humans. This is excluding Brad Pitt and and any other demigod of the netherworld, that is. I have a friend that assures me it is defiantly possible. But when you look like he does, it's more probable that HE'S the one getting approached by nervous produce wielding beauties. Mind you, this is also the same friend that suggested that in order to take it to the next plateau with my then girlfriend of four weeks, that I book a hotel room without telling her and then end our day's date by saying "I've got us a room. Let's go." Maybe that would have worked. But maybe not. The supermarket thing works in movies. But everything works in movies.
Back to the main thread, and IF this all works. Well, I'm sure it does. But I'm even more sure that it's not normal people that manage to pull this seemingly unsurmountable feat off. It's done by these chiselled characters with mythical good looks. It's done by the Populars and their scudded accomplices.
Aside from anything else I think common decency holds ME back. I just don't think anyone wants another person to creep up behind them while they are trying to make the ever important decision of wether to get smoked or regular bacon. I just don't think it's good manners. But then again, what's manners when the magnetic field begins to wail? What does common decency matter when your favourite song begins to play over the supermarket loud speakers, seemingly spurring you on in an oh so spiritual way. That's how it happens in the movies. Maybe that's how it happens in real life too? S.H.

Interpretation

Okay. Give me your interpretation of this situation. A guy walks into a clothing shop. He's only looking, probably has no real intention of buying anything unless it's really cheap, you know, a real bargain. The store is fairly empty of other shoppers, one or two of them perusing the wares on display. There are two female sales assistants. One of them is behind the counter, the other busily restocking a nearby rack. Now, the guy, remember him? Well, he mills around a bit, and in doing so passes the counter. The girl behind it gifts him a smile. The guy returns the gesture and walks on, his back now to the counter. The girl continues to follow him with her gaze. The guy knows this because he can feel her eyes on the back of his head, like delicate fingers running through his hair. Sure enough, as the guy rounds the edge of the shop and catches the girl in the edge of his view, she hands him another smile, before offering an unheard comment to her coworker. Now the coworker throws a quick look at the guy too. At that moment, someone approaches the counter to make a purchase and the attention of the two sales assistants in redirected. The guys leaves the store.
So, should the guy have waited around until the other shopper had made their purchase? Or was the sales assistant behind the counter just being generally friendly? S.H.

The Schizophrenic Shopper

So, as it was, whilst attempting to procure a little enlightenment via Keats in a supermarket parking lot, that I stumbled across the Schizophrenic Shopper. A middle aged lady of not abhorrent appearance, she talked away at regular pitch and volume, completely alone but for her apparent friends the grocery items. I couldn't tell if she was talking to herself or to the produce to be honest, but she did bust out phrases like "Oh, aren't you a large packet of toilet rolls," "you can't go there, you're not meant to go there" and my personal favourite "why do you do this to me?" Do what? Is she angry at the bananas for being a dollar a pound? It's not the air freshener's fault that it was buy one get one free.
I continued to get a few more minutes of this blissful observation until the nice lady got into her nice car and in her white Toyota straightjacket she drove away. S.H.