I hobbled slowly up to the bank just after it opened the doors this morning and made to place a cheque in the 'paying in machine.' A woman approached wearing a face a doctor's receptionist would be proud off.
"Yew paying in?" she asked.
"er, yes," muttered I.
She grabbed the cheque and examined the signature closely while the other staff glared on from a distance. The vixen passed the cheque around the others who slowly examined the small piece of paper.
"It looks almost genuine," one whispered.
"Him, paying in?" said another.
In the corner a customer mumbled to the clerk at the 'Information Desk,' "It looks dodgy to me, he has never been seen inside this place before."
The clerk agreed, but added, "However, I have only been working here ten years."
After a quick call to a stunned 'Bank Interpol' service I was allowed to proceed, though the woman with 'Stasi' in her blood did indicate she was watching. Indeed she was, and soon made clear it the machine would not work while I was doing it upside down. Why are self service machines so difficult?
I made for the door, eyes watching me, some red amongst them, others white with little black spots in the centre, I took the opportunity to hide among the early morning throng. I did notice two men across the way stare at me as I left the bank doorway, "What was he doing there?" one mouthed.
I sauntered through the townscape. The sun shone brightly, those avoiding the market day crowd sauntered also, mostly in my path I noticed. Few stalls were seen, though many regulars take holidays in the sunny parts of the world at this time of year. Push chairs pushed past, invalid carriages also, a dog was walked through the town dreaming of fields and trees, and children were locked in school to everyone's enjoyment.
I felt free.
On my way back to my abode I dared to enter Sainsburys on a Wednesday after 9 am. I was pleasantly surprised to find the hordes had not in fact gathered there already, it was not quiet but it was almost safe. Safe that is bar the men not used to trolleys and the women who used them as weapons.
The security man greeted me with his usual smile, one learned while serving in the Kings Own Royal Deserters, ran that electric weapon searcher up and down me and waved a pair of handcuffs in my face.
I think he was telling me something.
I browsed the grossly overpriced fruit and veg, avoiding fingering any in case they made me pay for the stuff. Dodging two grimacing men facing one another down in the narrow space between the shelving and a staff trolley, and I headed for the meat.
There was lots of it and the prices were fabulous. I decided instead to take a walk out to a farm and kill a cow at the weekend, chop it up and shove it in the freezer. Hard work, but less hard work than paying the prices Sainsburys wish to charge.
Was it Sainsburys or Tesco whose shareholders voted against a pay rise for the staff recently? One of them gave their staff a box of 'Quality Street' chocolates as a Christmas gift! As they sell at £4 a time and cost the store considerably less I am amazed at the generosity!
Carrying a basket enables me to avoid the slow, old people that hinder so much in supermarkets. Thus I collected the needful and headed for the checkout. Alas! The aged population had queued up, blocking the main passageway ignorantly. This is not surprising from a generation that always considered themselves before anyone else, and so I went off and joined the other young people like myself at the self service tills.
The young lass, who I had not seen before, was quick to aid those requiring help, even though she at first offered a visage fit for those seen sitting behind Tory Prime Ministers at PMQs. While we passed items across the pinging till she amused herself by dreaming of her boyfriends/better job/bank balance/way of escape, until a cry of help was uttered. I think I would rather sit at a checkout that be forced to run back and forward from one till to another constantly as in this job.
Once she had cleared my mistakes, once the security man had ceased glaring at me from across the hall, I moved out into the cold sunshine and braved crossing the by now, full car park. Dodging the man with the trolley that did not go in the direction he was going, avoided the woman in the red car putting makeup on her face while the car moved, and stopping to allow an ungrateful couple pass with their pushchair, I halted to catch the sun above the church.
Naturally it comes out dark, that's what happens when you point the camera at the bright sunshine, but I like it and do not have many other opportunities on days like this.
Back home, while the sun hid itself behind cloud and the temperature dropped like a stone, I concentrated on things that mattered. So, I slept, ate, slept and ate. Seems good to me. My knees agreed, and we have decided not to wander out again until Friday or Saturday, and spend the time available doing things that matter.
So, not much will be done this week again...
No comments:
Post a Comment