Currently, I’m reading this book…
Anyway, this morning I popped out to Aldi to get some shopping. Not much. A quick in and out, I thought. I don’t wear a mask-shaped mask anymore but in an attempt to be respectful of other shoppers and shop staff, I pull a scarf over my mouth and nose and, providing I can keep this to 10 minutes at the most, I can avoid a panic-attack overwhelming me. List in hand, then, I mounted a brisk expedition around the nicely wide aisles. There were probably a dozen people in the shop. If an aisle was empty I had a quick breather from behind my scarf. So far, so good.
I reached the checkout in just under ten minutes, loaded my haul onto the conveyor belt. The lady in front of me whizzed through. Victory was in sight. And then…
…a woman who had been loitering at the end of the checkout leapt in to speak to the checkout lady. Her pound coin was stuck in her trolley. What should she do? The checkout lady didn’t know.
“Just give me a pound from the till,’ said the woman with the jammed coin.
“I’ll speak to my supervisor,’ said the checkout lady.
Which she did, over her microphone headset.
During this time, I was starting to feel hot and bothered. My heart was beginning to pound. My bag of frozen Quorn sausages was beginning to defrost. (Not a euphemism. Actual Quorn sausages.) What would Thich Nhat Hanh do, I thought. He would say ‘Breath through it, be in the moment, address your impending panic attack with calm, kind thoughts.’ Would he say, ‘Think of the toad-in-the-hole you are making for dinner this evening. Yum!’ ? Probably not.
So I tried. I breathed as best I could with my mouth and nose covered. I reassured myself that this too would pass. I told myself that there are worse things to live through that last way longer than this, like childbirth or waiting for someone on the HMRC helpline to answer your call, and I’ve survived both of those.
The answer came back from the supervisor that no, they couldn’t give out pound coins from the till because, apparently, trolleys are not worth £1. What sort of excuse is THAT? The jammed coin woman held her ground, creating an impasse. I was holding mine, although the thought crossed my mind that I might have to abandon my shopping and make a dash for fresh air and freedom. Bit melodramatic, but panic attacks affect you like that.
‘The trolleys go away once a fortnight to be serviced,’ said the checkout girl. ‘If you would like to leave your name and address we can contact you when your £1 has been retrieved and you can come back to claim it.’
Seriously, I thought. Seriously?? At this point I wished I had my coin purse with me, because if I had I would have given the jammed coin woman a pound just to bring an end to the whole hoo-ha. But I didn’t, so I couldn’t. This is my coin purse. It is pink velvet. Lovely!
“How long will that take?’ said jammed coin woman.
The checkout lady shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say,’ she said. ‘Usually it’s around two weeks, but what with Covid and everything…’ and she shrugged again.
‘Two weeks?’ said jammed coin woman, unable to believe that she and her £1 would be parted for so long. Was she contemplating asking for accrued interest to be added, I wondered. I was contemplating the notion that shopping trolleys go for regular servicing. I found that VERY hard to believe.
Oh, the swearing that was going on in my mind, too! It was mindful swearing, but probably not language suitable to express in front of a Buddhist monk. I looked at my shopping on the conveyor belt. Did I actually NEED any of this stuff RIGHT now? Yes, I did because that is why I came shopping in the first place. I am no longer a shopper who shops for the shopping experience. Besides, leaving it all behind would only delay the need to shop and I’d have to go through the whole up and down the aisles rigamarole again. Keep breathing, keep facing the stress.
So coin jammed woman proceeded to write her name and contact details on a piece of till receipt provided by the checkout lady. Not a word of apology for holding me up with her fuss over £1, either.
Off she went, and I whipped my shopping through the checkout, red faced and gasping, although by this time I had taken off my scarf and was ready to fight to the death should anyone question why my face was no longer covered. Accumulated stress hormones, you see. I’d transcended flight mode and was now up for a fight.
And I am now going to say something that is very judgemental and unlike Zen-like. That woman did not look like she needed that £1. She had high-end Aldi in her trolley, she was dressed smartly in good clothes. Her hair was carefully coiffed. In the car park she loaded her shopping into a large and fairly new top-of-the-range SUV. Of course, she could have been presenting a brave face to the world and that jammed £1 coin in her trolley might have been the last £1 between her and destitution. And if that is the case, then I am sorry for thinking such uncharitable and judgemental thoughts.
But I can challenge myself with seeing another side of the story now that I’ve been home for over an hour, drunk a nice cup of tea and watched Edith the Rabbit arsing around in her new tunnel toy. I am feeling safe and calm again. It’s all about context really.
But at the time, I was selfishly putting my own discomfort first and I was thinking, ‘It’s just a f***ing pound, ffs.’
Back to studying my book, then. I definitely need to. Many lessons to be learned on this pathway.
Comments
Harrumph,
KJ