Shopping List by Nadia Kingsley The first time I noticed someone else’s list, lying discarded in my shopping trolley, it made me blush. It seemed so private and personal. Something I should not be seeing - like the inside of a stranger’s handbag or wallet. I tried to ignore it. I hid it under products that I grabbed from the shelf, things that were otherwise of no use to me. Once I’d paid for my load and put the bags into the boot of my car I took that shopping list by one of its corners. I walked with it to the nearest bin, holding it out at arms length as if it was infected, and threw it away. It was hot and I was sweating and the list was written in ink. It left a backwards 5 on the pad of my first finger.
That was enough. For the rest of the day, as I systematically went through my normal chores, I speculated on what the 5 had been associated with. I mentally walked round the supermarket. Maybe they wanted 5 bananas, or 5lbs of potatoes, or 5 bags of salad, or maybe just a generic and health conscious five fruit and veg.
The 5 had been written at the top of the list so I felt it was likely to be in the fruit and vegetable section. But then, I had noticed over the years, not everyone is as organised or as methodical as I am so perhaps it might have been 5 Birthday cards or 5 bars of chocolate, or perhaps they were planning a meal for five - 5 portions of fish, 5 chicken breasts. It was fun. A piece of light entertainment that got me through the mundane tasks associated with a housewife’s day. At that point, I am glad to say, I didn’t even consider driving back to the supermarket and searching for the said list amongst the detritus of chocolate bar wrappers, torn up receipts and used tissues. But it did feel as if I had one small, but sharp stone in my shoe, and as hard as I tried I couldn’t dislodge it. So, the next time there was a shopping list at the bottom of my trolley, I felt a surge of excitement. I reached out to pick it up, but I just didn’t have the nerve. So, I did my normal shopping and I covered the list once more - with boxes of cereal, cartons of milk and tubs of margarine. But if I had been accosted by one of those market researchers, while I zigzagged up and down the aisles, I would have told them that my shopping experience today was thrilling , and I would have meant it. I was planning my next move, and I must say, I executed it quite beautifully. As I lifted a packed shopping bag into my awaiting trolley I leaned forwards, masking the trolley from the cashier, and I slipped that shopping list into the bag. I straightened up and carried on packing my bags as if nothing was untoward, but my heart was racing like a small bird’s heart and it took all my effort to remain calm on the outside. I forgot to hand my parking ticket in for a refund, but that, I felt, had been my only mistake. Once home, I put away all my shopping, got myself a glass of wine, and only then did I read the list:- Box of chocolates
Bubbly
Glasses
Candles
Crispy duck
Condoms I couldn’t believe my luck! Here was a man whose age, I admit, I was finding hard to pin down. However, what was obvious was that he had not had much experience with girls as his approach was pretty much lifted straight out of an advertisement. But he knew he wasn’t ugly, and was optimistic about the outcome of the evening. He lived on his own, and hadn’t had a girl round for ages, but he was ready to put his all into the evening ahead, so he had probably had his eye on this girl for sometime, and so, I concluded, must work with her. I ached to know what kind of chocolates he had bought - that would have given me so many clues to his personality, and his pocket. I even wondered what type of condoms he had purchased - were they primarily for his protection, or her pleasure?
I had finally found myself an interest - I was hooked. The next time I went to the supermarket I looked around to see if I could recognise this man. The time after that I took his shopping list with me, in the hope of matching his handwriting with one of the male shoppers there. I was unsuccessful, and after five attempts (this number now held some sort of mystical power over me) I ceremoniously burnt his shopping list and promised myself that it was all over. But an itch that has been scratched is hard to ignore. There are always vulnerable moments in the day. I had learnt so much about this man from his shopping list, but I still had many more questions than answers. Next time, I thought, I need a longer list, I need to get into the skin of the shopper, and I need to ‘walk the walk.’ I had a plan, but as luck would have it, I didn’t see another shopping list for a long time. I increased my trips to the supermarket from once a fortnight to once a week to once a day - but still no luck. Then, one day, I saw one. It was trapped inside a row of shopping trolleys. I leaned right over to read it - the writing looked straight out of a manuscript. It was folded, so I couldn’t see much of it, but the list was long enough to extend onto the back of the piece of paper. So, with my heart in my mouth, I stood by the trolley rank and waited for people to take all the excess trolleys away. But it was a Tuesday afternoon and there were very few shoppers around. And there were four columns of shopping trolleys. I was becoming impatient. I looked in my purse. I had one pound coin in there. I had to speed things up somehow. I put my coin in the first shopping trolley, released it, moved it to the adjacent column, plugged it in and retrieved my coin. I repeated the procedure once more, and then another time. But then I heard an excuse me behind me and somebody slotted their trolley right into my column thus negating my last action. I felt exasperated. I continued with my plan, but I met with several disapproving glances from other shoppers and someone even muttered nutter as they took hold of their trolley in a violent and territorial manner. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I counted the number of trolleys I needed to move until I could get hold of my one. Ten. A trolley boy came along and took a column of trolleys away, the column that was right next to mine. I realised then that I had to work fast, before he came back. I felt suddenly inspired and, working fast, I removed those ten trolleys in two lots of fives - by leaning right over them, my feet in the air, and placing my pound coin in the furthest slot I could reach. When I had my trolley in my hands I felt a surge of something that I can only describe as all-encompassing power. I grabbed the list out of it and rushed through the automatic doors of the supermarket. Once through those doors, I forced myself to calm down. I used my sleeve to wipe the perspiration from my forehead. I looked round. Everything was as it should be: mothers bribing their children with the promise of an ice cream; old women examining the out of date goods; students getting their microwave meals for one. It was time to put my plan in action. I held the list, as if it was a love letter, and then, calmly and methodically, I worked my way down that list and put everything into my trolley. The last item was rock salt. 50 kg of rock salt, it said. I found the aisle and located the rock salt and put it in my trolley. But I soon realised there wasn’t enough there. I grabbed a shelf stacker and asked if they had more in the back. He said he’d have a look and hurried away. I stood there. I wondered if I should make up the difference with table salt, but soon realised that that would be cheating, and so I stood there, waiting for the shelf stacker to come back.
I looked around to pass the time. The shop seemed as if it was empty. There was no one else in the aisle with me, but also, I didn’t see anyone walking past the ends of the aisle. I looked at my watch. I had been standing there for a full twenty minutes. He wasn’t coming back. So I started walking along, with my trolley, to look for another shelf stacker who might actually help me this time. And that’s when the voice shouted Get down on the floor - NOW! And all these policemen, in riot gear came rushing at me, and forced me onto the ground. They handcuffed me and put me, and my trolley, into the back of an unmarked van and they brought me here. This is my full and honest statement for what happened. I’m not a terrorist - just a bored housewife who took a good idea and maybe went a bit too far with it. I don’t deserve to be locked up. Please. Let me go. |
Prose
> Shopping List
Diary from Maya
Journey
Poetry
Security blanket
If the dead could speak
This is love
When you left
On a sunny day |
