Checking-out.
An early Saturday afternoon. I’m in the queue for the checkout at my local ‘super’ market armed with some eggs, a loaf of bread, a newspaper and a monstrous hangover.
I’m in no mood.
A man I sort-of know joins the queue behind me.
Namesake: Alright mate?
I’m going to be forced to have a conversation, aren’t I?
I glance at the length of the queue ahead of me, briefly calculate the number of items each person has and the resulting transaction time and come to the conclusion that it’s going to be far too long.
Me: [With heavy heart] Mmm?
Some back-story is required. A couple of years ago I did the hellish ‘flatmate’ thing and moved into the spare room of a ‘lively lady’. She’d had a number of ‘flat-mates’ in the past, and had agreed to ‘take me on’ as I was a ‘fella’ and she felt she didn’t ‘get on’ with her female lodgers.
It was ok until she perplexingly got quite ‘keen’ on me and that. Which was awkward for a bit, but then she pulled herself together and got herself a new bloke with the same name as me. And, I assumed, lived happily ever after once I moved-out and got my own place because I couldn’t tolerate all the ‘happiness’ going on.
Anyway. This is him. He's not a 'bad' bloke I suppose.
Namesake: Been up to much? Still in the same place?
Two questions at once. The bastard.
Me: Mmph. Yeah. Out last night though. Bit delicate.
Namesake: [Needlessly enthusiastic]Gotta be done though, yeah?
Actually, could you just not talk?
Namesake: Don’t know if you heard?
Me: …
Namesake: Yeah, me and Lively split.
Me: Oh.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information. The fucking queue isn’t moving any quicker and the conversation is quickly getting into a place that is ‘not my area’.
Namesake: Yeah. I mean. I moved out, then we weren’t together.
Yeah, that’ll do it, I think to myself. Especially if you try it in that order.
Namesake: We were still seeing each other after I moved out and that – her idea for me to go, you know – money and that, I’ve not done well after the divorce - and…
The old woman two spaces ahead of me – after paying for her shopping - is now paying her utility bills on those pre-payment card things. One-by-one. Marvellous.
Namesake: …so she got a new lodger but he didn’t work out. This is before we officially split and that. Apparently he didn’t like having the flat to himself ‘cos she was always round mine…
Yeah, no doubt mate. ‘He hated having the place to himself’. That was his problem.
Fuck me, Mum-Ra has been replaced by Discount Coupon Lady who is taking even longer.
Namesake: …but she’s got a new one now and it seems to be going well. I mean. I don’t see her much anymore, but sometimes I see them and they’re even out together. You know? Of a night-time and that? Seems like a nice chap, actually.
I think of the Friday night texts I used to get from Lively Lady.
Namesake gazes thoughtfully into the middle-distance. The poor bastard.
Thankfully, I have been served.
Me: Anyway.
Namesake: Oh. Yeah. Good to see you again mate.
Me: Yeah.
I don’t then grab his shoulder and say “At least I didn’t fuck her” because I’m far too hung-over.
I’m in no mood.
A man I sort-of know joins the queue behind me.
Namesake: Alright mate?
I’m going to be forced to have a conversation, aren’t I?
I glance at the length of the queue ahead of me, briefly calculate the number of items each person has and the resulting transaction time and come to the conclusion that it’s going to be far too long.
Me: [With heavy heart] Mmm?
Some back-story is required. A couple of years ago I did the hellish ‘flatmate’ thing and moved into the spare room of a ‘lively lady’. She’d had a number of ‘flat-mates’ in the past, and had agreed to ‘take me on’ as I was a ‘fella’ and she felt she didn’t ‘get on’ with her female lodgers.
It was ok until she perplexingly got quite ‘keen’ on me and that. Which was awkward for a bit, but then she pulled herself together and got herself a new bloke with the same name as me. And, I assumed, lived happily ever after once I moved-out and got my own place because I couldn’t tolerate all the ‘happiness’ going on.
Anyway. This is him. He's not a 'bad' bloke I suppose.
Namesake: Been up to much? Still in the same place?
Two questions at once. The bastard.
Me: Mmph. Yeah. Out last night though. Bit delicate.
Namesake: [Needlessly enthusiastic]Gotta be done though, yeah?
Actually, could you just not talk?
Namesake: Don’t know if you heard?
Me: …
Namesake: Yeah, me and Lively split.
Me: Oh.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information. The fucking queue isn’t moving any quicker and the conversation is quickly getting into a place that is ‘not my area’.
Namesake: Yeah. I mean. I moved out, then we weren’t together.
Yeah, that’ll do it, I think to myself. Especially if you try it in that order.
Namesake: We were still seeing each other after I moved out and that – her idea for me to go, you know – money and that, I’ve not done well after the divorce - and…
The old woman two spaces ahead of me – after paying for her shopping - is now paying her utility bills on those pre-payment card things. One-by-one. Marvellous.
Namesake: …so she got a new lodger but he didn’t work out. This is before we officially split and that. Apparently he didn’t like having the flat to himself ‘cos she was always round mine…
Yeah, no doubt mate. ‘He hated having the place to himself’. That was his problem.
Fuck me, Mum-Ra has been replaced by Discount Coupon Lady who is taking even longer.
Namesake: …but she’s got a new one now and it seems to be going well. I mean. I don’t see her much anymore, but sometimes I see them and they’re even out together. You know? Of a night-time and that? Seems like a nice chap, actually.
I think of the Friday night texts I used to get from Lively Lady.
Namesake gazes thoughtfully into the middle-distance. The poor bastard.
Thankfully, I have been served.
Me: Anyway.
Namesake: Oh. Yeah. Good to see you again mate.
Me: Yeah.
I don’t then grab his shoulder and say “At least I didn’t fuck her” because I’m far too hung-over.
posted by Tired Dad at
9:48 pm
10 Comments:
Oooh, Ooo - am I first.
How marvelous.
Long time ago now (over 5 years)I got accosted by an ex shag piece in Tesco's. You know, the one's you have a lil' ting with then throw away and forget. He now had a new job as the store's security guard. It's my local shop - 5 mins away. We had an awkward, hey long time;how you doing;I'd (him) love to reconnect kinda chat. I smiled, mumbled and then spent the next 6 months shopping over a mile away until he left.
Shopping sux.
Ann Anon
So Sad.
I reckon you're still semi-traumatised from the effects of the motivation course.
Why is it that women in the queue ahead of us, NEVER get the money/card ready. They always act like being asked for the moolah is a great shock, and THEN start digging in their handbags for their purse.
You would expect that as they seem to enjoy shopping so much, they'd get used to the concept of GET YOUR MONEY READY.
TSB - you would have to load the trolley one handed. I realise men are used to doing things one handed, but women multitask.
You know Tired Dad, your cohabitation with Lively Lady sounds like a prime time BBC sitcom in the making.
And you would have, except for a hangover. Damn hangover!
Ann: Ah. Yes.
TSB: I do not know. Why don't you write a blog post about it?
D: Don't encourage him please.
Miss U: An unrom-com perhaps. God it was awful.
E: I don't know if I would to be honest. He seemed genuinely unaware of what was going on, poor sod.
It would pay to shop before you got the hangover, I think.
TSB, I always am ready to pay as I use my bank(cash point?) card. I hate people that write checks and wait til after they are rung up to start. There should be a stupid bastards that don't have a clue check only line.
punx: You over-estimate my organisational skills.
Sometimes you just HAVE to feign death to get out of certain situations. If it worked for Des O'Connor at the Glasgow Pavilion, it should work for you when accosted in the supermarket.
Ali x
Ali: I don't quite know why but that has given me a huge sense of deja-vu. Odd.
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