This afternoon, the call of the grocery became so loud it roared. No veg, no fruit, and like Old Mother Hubbard, my cupboard was bare. That’s what happens when the chief cook and bottle washer is disabled.
I bribed Skipper into taking me to the local eff’n'veg, which is around the corner from the shop where masterchefs shop (but actually, rarely have anything chef like, really). Whilst I left him in charge of the eff’n'veg, I commandeered a trolley and proceeded to wheel it around, one armed, with my other elbow guiding and TFM running back and forth to and from the shelves.
Hey, that’s why we have kids – yes?
Anyhow, there I am, negotiating a 3 wheeled trolley (one wheel was on strike) and doing a damn fine job for a woman in splinted cast, if you ask me, when a short, well dressed woman dashed in front of me. She veered left, then right, then abruptly changed her mind and stepped and stopped in front of my aisle – and my trolley.
And of course I rammed straight into her.
After apologising profusely – and secretly fuming at her indecisiveness and ability to choose a direction let alone look around her – I headed off down the juice aisle. I stopped to get TFM to fetch the apple/kiwi mix – the best – and I saw her hobbling towards me with a purposeful look.
You just know when someone’s going to come at you, don’t you?
“You know, that really hurt” she said. “You really hurt me“.
Well, I bet it did hurt, to be honest. I was only about 8 cms away from her when she stopped dead in front of me.
“I bet it did”, I agreed. “I really didn’t do it on purpose, you know. I am terribly sorry“.
I was about to leave it there, when she added “You should be more responsible“.
So I am standing there, with a broken hand, arm in a sling, and she looks right at it and adds “you should have been paying more attention“.
My voice just came from no where. I’d swear it was the drugs talking only I hadn’t had any pain relief for about 3 days, so I guess that’s a lame excuse. “You swerved in front of me! You swerved, left, right, left and stepped in front of me – I couldn’t have stopped. You didn’t seem to know where you were going. I apologised, it’s not like I hit you on purpose!”
Who said that?! Known for patience usually, I have to say that standing in the shop where a masterchef shops, arm in a sling, arguing with a woman who stepped in front of me and managed a bruised ankle – must have rankled me more than I realised.
She added : “You were the driver of the trolley, perhaps you should take more care“.
I couldn’t help myself. “Perhaps you could make up your mind where you want to walk!” I snapped.
She opened her mouth to speak again. I shook my head, gathered my remains of self-respect, turned my back on her and elbow bumped my trolley away. Before I said something that embarrassed both of us. Something like ‘I have one effing arm, lady, sod off and whinge somewhere else’.
As I stalked off with my careering, striking wheeled demon trolley, out the corner of my eye, I watched her limp away.
Why did she make me feel so mad!? Was it because I was injured and she seemed to look right through that? Was it because she showed complete lack of responsibility for her own actions? Was it because I am just becoming a cranky old bat? I never speak that way to people.
I horrified myself.