Nearly managed to walk out of Sainsbury’s today without paying. Well, I say nearly managed, but I didn’t really get so far. I just went through the motions of it, before being awkwardly called back. It was the cashier’s fault anyway. Asking me demanding questions about the weather and my weekend plans and my degree, all whilst watching me attempt to place my groceries in either the one plastic bag my environmentally-conscious self allowed my not-so-conscious other self, or in the Primark bag I’d unthinkingly accepted earlier, or in the satchel over my shoulder. And that, the organization of groceries and the correct allocation based on weight distribution ratios, is a mentally taxing enough assignment, without having to answer life’s deeper questions. So then, in celebration of the completion of this intensive task, I picked up the two carrier bags and started to saunter away, thanking the cashier kindly. It went something like this:
‘Thanks very much, hope you don’t have to stay too late.’
‘Uhh... would you like to pay with cash or card?’
At which point I hastily tried unsuccessfully to not look an idiot, and dropped my carefully sorted and packed bags on the floor, spilling the contents as I fumbled in my satchel for my wallet.
Ever have those days where you’re not entirely certain where you are, but it’s not here?
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