With my elderly mother self-isolating, I’d the unmitigated joy of undertaking the weekly food shop in solitude. In the wake of coronavirus’ wrath, panic buying has left many supermarket shelves sparsely stocked. In fact, the toilet roll aisle of a retail outlet I patronised yesterday was so bereft of toilet tissue squatters had taken residence where the rolls once lived.
Of course, the last sentence isn’t true!!…… It was gypsies!
I shouldn’t really complain about my odyssey among the aisles. After all, I managed to secure a packet of loo rolls the other day, not to mention securing the vast majority of comestibles sought.
Admittedly, I’d to make compromises on the brands which ordinarily populate my trolley. For example, the only cans of baked beans I could secure were two tins of kosher baked bins. I’ve no idea what makes them kosher or how they compare to their non-kosher cousins, but as they say in Yorkshire “They’ll be reet, lad!”
With tongue firmly pressed in cheek, I asked a busy store worker if they’d any kosher toilet roll. It was to his great credit he only responded with the brief “No, sir.“, and not the “Stop asking stupid questions, you f***ing half wit!”, which my ludicrous enquiry fully warranted.
Witnessing metres of empty supermarket shelving endorsed the post apocalyptic feel of the situation, of which I wrote yesterday in You’ve Gotta Laugh….. Erm, Hopefully!! This barren shelf landscape bringing forth notions of Wild West movie scenes where tumbleweed blows eerily past a town saloon along a windswept main thoroughfare.
While slowly navigating my supermarket trolley around the store, hoping I wasn’t caught in the crossfire of a Billy the Kid shootout, raising of eyebrows and shakes of the head were exchanged with fellow shopper at the paucity of many comestibles. A sparsity of stock consequential of the sheer greed and selfishness borne by some members of our dysfunctional society.
Individual’s gluttony leading to my mistrust of humanity being so lofty I shamefully monitored my trolley while meandered the aisles, ensuring nobody took an item they’d been unable to secure themselves.
Ordinarily I’d never behave as preciously while supermarket in situ; however, the selfishness displayed by the ‘I mustn’t be inconvenienced’ brigade mean in these disparate times you’ve to watch for such underhand skulduggery.
A second store I visited yesterday, getting comestibles for my estranged wife who is self-isolating, had even sparser filled shelves than the supermarket whose ever dwindling wares I’d earlier plundered.
This store was where my estranged wife’d worked part-time as a checkout operator until around eight years ago, when she left due to her cancer diagnosis. Consequently, this was a retail sojourn where I’d to run the gauntlet of being looked upon as though I was s**t on the shoe of some of her ex-colleagues.
The irony of the sheer contempt I was party to, shopping for the person whose lies and half truths had led to this treatment, wasn’t lost on me. People clearly not wanting to hear my side of the tawdry incidents by both parties, which ultimately led to my enforced departure.
As is her penchant, the person whose domestic bills (including mortgage) I still pay, and who I thoughtful (or so I thought) sought to help during her isolation, clearly feeling the need to villainise me to anyone prepared to listen.
You can bet your house she won’t be relaying to those same individuals that within the last fortnight I undertaken six instances of voluntary work raising hundreds of pounds for a cancer charity.
Am I angry about it? …….. F*** yeah!!
Life is too short and I really should just shrug off her mischief making. However, as the recipient of 30 years of no affection/warmth from this person, who I’d worked rotating shifts in a job I disliked so she didn’t have to work, I’m furious she’s blackening my name this way. Behaviour that’ll make it very difficult for me to move back at some stage into a home I love(d).
Her bleats about how hard she worked in the home, blown out of the water by the fact the tasks she undertook for me (ie cleaning the house and washing laundry) are now quite easily completed by my near 80 year old mother.
Ultimately, though, I suppose her behaviour vindicates my decision to leave the toxicity of my marital home. Her playing of the cancer card to enhance the disgrace she wishes to heap upon me is unforgivable, especially as I’ve spent hundreds of hours in hospital waiting rooms during her nine year fight……. Incidentally, her parents have visited her just twice since their daughter’s incurable cancer diagnosis in November 2010, but get a free pass through this lady’s misplaced blind loyalty.
Anyhow, hopefully my escape from the negative poison will bring with it a reduced risk of a second heart attack. The fear which led to me taking a decision to leave the aforementioned marital home.
Right, I’m off before my mum dusts me!……. Oh, incidentally if you are in need of kosher baked beans and want to swap for a tin of Heinz give me a shout!!