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So there I was, following my well worn track through the Supermarket. I tolerate shopping. Not that I really hate it, we all have to eat.
I get to the bread aisle. All I need is one loaf of white and one of rye. I know where they are, and I can grab them on the way past and dump them on the top of the pile.
But wait! There's a lady at the shelves I need to get to. She has her trolley blocking one bank, and she's blocking the whole of another section. Now I'm not saying she was fat, what I am saying is she was wide enough to stop me getting to my bread.
All right she was fat. The ratio was about 1.5 (I.E. she was 1.5 metres tall and 1 metre wide)
So I wait. I read all the labels on the bread I don't want. I wait some more. I re-read all the labels. I start to get sick of waiting. Normally I will let someone else have their turn at the shelves. If they are there before me I will wait for a short while, then I will say politely "excuse me"
This was different. I was speechless. What she was doing stopped my vocal cords. I went down the aisle so I could watch her and not get caught in the stupid fallout when her head exploded.
When I first looked she had two loaves of bread in her trolley. She was pulling at the plastic from various angles and looking at each loaf. This went on for a while. Then she put both of these loaves back and stroked them across the top, then moved on to the other loaves on that shelf, stroking them (like you would a cat - from the head to the tail with your whole hand, pushing a little harder with your fingers as you get to the tail).
Each loaf was treated to the full stroke - some were stroked several times.
Then she went down one shelf and stroked all the loaves on that shelf. Then back to the upper shelf and stroked all of them again. Picked one loaf and held it in one hand while she stroked it again, put it back and did the same to the next one.
Then she went back to stroking them again.
I didn't want to talk to her. My brain was rushing from side to side, looking for a way out. I really needed bread, but what to do? Was she going to start stroking the lower loaves - the ones I wanted, or was she satisfied with the ones she was stroking now?
I was brave. I told my brain to behave. I pressed my lips together to stifle my laughter. I told myself - "It's like approaching a wild animal. If you look confident they can't do anything. Whatever you do, don't. Just don't"
I marched towards her. She hesitated. I lunged towards the lower shelves. I secured my prize! I turned, and as I walked back to my trolley I could feel her wild eyes glaring at my back... or was that my eczema? I chanted to myself "Don't look back. Don't look back."
I put my bread in the trolley and pushed it towards to end of the aisle. Made it! I risked a glimpse back. She was still there. Still stroking. Over and over.
In the immortal words of Colonel "Bat" Guano (played by Keenan Wynn) "I think you're some kind of deviated prevert."
Yes, prevert.
Stroking bread.
Gah!
I get to the bread aisle. All I need is one loaf of white and one of rye. I know where they are, and I can grab them on the way past and dump them on the top of the pile.
But wait! There's a lady at the shelves I need to get to. She has her trolley blocking one bank, and she's blocking the whole of another section. Now I'm not saying she was fat, what I am saying is she was wide enough to stop me getting to my bread.
All right she was fat. The ratio was about 1.5 (I.E. she was 1.5 metres tall and 1 metre wide)
So I wait. I read all the labels on the bread I don't want. I wait some more. I re-read all the labels. I start to get sick of waiting. Normally I will let someone else have their turn at the shelves. If they are there before me I will wait for a short while, then I will say politely "excuse me"
This was different. I was speechless. What she was doing stopped my vocal cords. I went down the aisle so I could watch her and not get caught in the stupid fallout when her head exploded.
When I first looked she had two loaves of bread in her trolley. She was pulling at the plastic from various angles and looking at each loaf. This went on for a while. Then she put both of these loaves back and stroked them across the top, then moved on to the other loaves on that shelf, stroking them (like you would a cat - from the head to the tail with your whole hand, pushing a little harder with your fingers as you get to the tail).
Each loaf was treated to the full stroke - some were stroked several times.
Then she went down one shelf and stroked all the loaves on that shelf. Then back to the upper shelf and stroked all of them again. Picked one loaf and held it in one hand while she stroked it again, put it back and did the same to the next one.
Then she went back to stroking them again.
I didn't want to talk to her. My brain was rushing from side to side, looking for a way out. I really needed bread, but what to do? Was she going to start stroking the lower loaves - the ones I wanted, or was she satisfied with the ones she was stroking now?
I was brave. I told my brain to behave. I pressed my lips together to stifle my laughter. I told myself - "It's like approaching a wild animal. If you look confident they can't do anything. Whatever you do, don't. Just don't"
I marched towards her. She hesitated. I lunged towards the lower shelves. I secured my prize! I turned, and as I walked back to my trolley I could feel her wild eyes glaring at my back... or was that my eczema? I chanted to myself "Don't look back. Don't look back."
I put my bread in the trolley and pushed it towards to end of the aisle. Made it! I risked a glimpse back. She was still there. Still stroking. Over and over.
In the immortal words of Colonel "Bat" Guano (played by Keenan Wynn) "I think you're some kind of deviated prevert."
Yes, prevert.
Stroking bread.
Gah!
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