Hello one and all. The subject I’m writing about today is a bit random which is
not my style normally. (Well I could hardly say it wasn’t considering my blog name.)
As I write this, I still haven’t thought of a title. Which makes me think, ‘Will I need a title?’
Oh I don’t know, I’m beginning to think that I’ve lost the plot. (You never know I might find it soon.)
Let me set the scene.
It all started when we were making our way to the check-out at one of our well used (by us) supermarkets. We hadn’t purchased very much on this occasion so our estimated time of leaving this well known establishment should have been ten minutes. (I did say ‘estimated’.) Of course, as it was merely an estimation, the time was bound to be varied.
Before I continue I feel I have to let you know that I, Christine, am a person who will never judge anyone on their appearance, their manner, speech, personality or anything that makes them ‘different’ in any way. I try to ‘never judge a book by it’s cover’ as it’s not in my nature. I always like to give everyone a chance even if it’s difficult for me at the time. (Sometimes I have been known to slip up once or twice but on the whole, I’m non-judgemental.)
Anyway, we got to the end of the check-out queue and were fairly confident that we’d chosen the correct one. By that I mean, there were only two customers in front of us. Perfect. So why is it then that when you feel you’ve chosen the correct check-out, the ones either side of you start to quicken up? I don’t know about you but I feel cheated when that happens. As we’d already put our shopping onto the conveyor belt and it would’ve taken just as long to take it off and move to the next lane, we decided to stay where we were. I started to wonder then if the lady who’d got to the check-out after us was gloating inside as if to tease us with a ‘na, na, na, na, na I’m getting served before you’. (Only I think that way, I’m guessing.)
Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t in any hurry, far from it but something inside always tells you to be the quickest you can be through the check-out. I don’t know why. I’m not an Olympian shopper that has to post the fastest time in and out of the supermarket. It’s just something unwritten us humans have to do. As I was becoming a little impatient, I glanced to the front to see what the hold-up was and, as usual, there was a price query. (There’s always someone who has picked up an item that doesn’t have a bar code on it.)
‘For goodness sake!’ I muttered under my breath, ‘It’s OK we’ve got all day.’ (I said that sarcastically because we didn’t really have all day. That would’ve been a long time to wait wouldn’t it.)
Anyway, the supervisor came over to take ‘said’ item wherever one takes ‘said’ items. In the meantime, the lady serving decided that she would have a chat to another young lady who worked there too. (Typical!)
However, that’s when I noticed the thing that I would have to try and pretend I hadn’t noticed. The problem is, I know what I’m like when trying to ignore something so obvious. What I tend to do is, either, stare more at them/it or I inadvertently say the thing.
Whilst I’m on the subject, it’s not only visual things that affect me because it’s verbal too. If someone has a different accent to me, I have been known to reply with the same accent. I don’t mean to, it just happens. I’ve even lisped, stammered, growled or whispered as if in parrot style. The trouble is, I don’t mean to do it. It just comes out. I can’t even ‘do’ accents normally but if someone Scottish, Cornish, Welsh… speaks to me, it doesn’t matter, I’ll do it too.
The cashier, unfortunately, had the thickest, darkest eyebrows that I’d ever seen. They were also, well let’s put it this way, so wide they started above her right ear, joined in the middle of her brow and continued over to her left ear. Her hair colour was grey (gray to any Americans who are still reading) which only seemed to accentuate them further.
I began to panic because I knew full well that when we got to face her I would embarrass her or myself. I’ve been in these situations before when I’ve meant to say ‘thanks’ and the thing I was trying to ignore came out instead. I took a few deep breaths but Steve, my partner, who loves to see me in a predicament, said things like, ‘I was just ‘brows’-ing’ or ‘our ‘eyes’ caught sight of these sausages’ I could feel the blush rising up my body. I hadn’t even got to her and I was already feeling embarrassed. That poor woman wouldn’t appreciate me saying the wrong thing. Inside I whispered as a rehearsal, ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ as if that would be the only thing I would need to say.
The time came, (more than ten minutes later) and we were stood in front of her. I decided to smile and not let my eyes wander to hers. She asked me if I would like some bags to which I replied with my head down, ‘Thanks’ (Phew I didn’t say ‘brows’) She then scanned the items of shopping, (very slowly I might add) and finally turned to me and told me the price.
*Deep breaths, deep breaths.
‘Thanks,’ I uttered in reply.
She then took the receipt from the till and, folding it in half, held it out for me to take… *(don’t say it…don’t say it…)
‘Thanks,’ was my last word (Phew!)
I have to say she was looking at me as if I was a ‘weirdo’ or something. I just smiled and turned towards the door.
Inside, I was so pleased with myself.
I had managed to stop myself from blurting out ‘brows’ involuntarily. The first time that I’ve managed to avoid having ‘foot in mouth’ disease.
I feel so proud of my achievement.