TEXT 9: SHOPPING FOR ONE

by Anne Cassidy

Before you read:

1) What do you like and what do you dislike about supermarkets?

2) Judging by the title, what could the text be about?

“So what did you say?” Jean heard the blonde woman in front of her talking to her friend.

Supermarkets are much the same all over the world – especially the queues at checkout points. There are always snatches of overheard conversation…

“Well,” the darker woman began, “I said I’m not having that woman there. I don’t see why I should. I mean I’m not being old-fashioned but I don’t see why I should have to put up with her at family occasions. After all…” Jean noticed the other woman giving an accompaniment of nods at the appropriate parts. They fell into silence and the queue moved forward a couple of steps.

Jean felt her patience beginning to itch. Looking into her wire basket she counted ten items. That meant she couldn’t go through the quick till but simply had to wait behind the elephantine shopping loads; giant bottles of coke crammed in beside twenty-pound bags of potatoes and “special offer” drums of bleach. Somewhere at the bottom, Jean thought, there was always a plastic carton of eggs or a see-through tray of tomatoes which fell casualty to the rest. There was nothing else for it – she’d just have to wait.

“After all,” the dark woman resumed her conversation, “how would it look if she was there when I turned up?” Her friend shook her head slowly from side to side and ended with a quick nod.

Should she have got such a small size salad cream? Jean wasn’t sure. She was sick of throwing away half-used bottles of stuff.

“He came back to you after all,” the blonde woman suddenly said. Jean looked up quickly and immediately felt her cheeks flush. She bent over and began to rearrange the items in her shopping basket.

“On his hands and knees,” the dark woman spoke in a triumphant voice. “Begged me take him back.”

She gritted her teeth together. Should she go and change it for a larger size? Jean looked behind and saw that she was hemmed in by three large trolleys. She’d lose her place in the queue. There was something so pitiful about buying small sizes of everything. It was as though everyone knew.

“You can always tell a person by her shopping,“ was one of her mother’s favourite maxims. She looked into her shopping basket: individual fruit pies, small salad cream, yoghurt, tomatoes, cat food and a chicken quarter.

The blonde began to load her shopping onto the conveyor belt. The cashier, doing what looked like an in-depth study of a biro, suddenly said, “Make it out to J. Sainsbury PLC.” She was addressing a man who had been poised and waiting to write out a cheque for a few moments. His wife was loading what looked like a gross of fish fingers into a cardboard box marked “Whiskas”. It was called a division of labour.

Jean looked again at her basket and began to feel the familiar regret that visited her from time to time. Hemmed in between family size cartons of cornflakes and giant packets of washing powder, her individual yoghurt seemed to say it all. She looked up towards a plastic bookstand which stood beside the till. A slim glossy hardback caught her eye. The words “Cooking for One” screamed out from the front cover. Think of all the oriental foods you can get into, her friend had said. He was so traditional after all. Nodding in agreement with her thoughts Jean found herself eye to eye with the blonde woman, who, obviously not prepared to tolerate nodding at anyone else, gave her a blank, hard look and handed her what looked like a black plastic ruler with the words “Next customer please” printed on it in bold letters. She turned back to her friend. Jean put the ruler down on the conveyor belt.

She thought about their shopping trips, before, when they were together, which for some reason seemed to assume massive proportions considering there were only two of them. All that rushing round, he pushing the trolley dejectedly, she firing questions at him. Salmon? Toilet Rolls? Coffee? Peas? She remembered he only liked the processed kind. It was all such a performance. Standing there holding her wire basket, embarrassed by its emptiness, was like something out of a soap opera.

“Of course, we’ve had our ups and downs,” the dark woman continued, lazily passing a few items down to her friend who was now on to what looked like her fourth Marks and Spencer[**] carrier bag.

Jean began to load her food onto the conveyor belt. She picked up the cookery book and felt the frustrations of indecision. It was only ninety pence but it seemed to define everything, to pinpoint her aloneness, to prescribe an empty future. She put it back in its place.

“So that’s why I couldn’t have her there, you see,” the dark woman was summing up. She lowered her voice to a loud whisper which immediately alerted a larger audience. “And anyway, when he settles back in, I’m sure we’ll sort out the other business then.” The friends exchanged knowing expressions and the blonde woman got her purse out of a neat leather bag. She peeled off three ten pound notes and handed them to the cashier.

Jean opened her carrier bag ready for her shopping. She turned to watch the two women as they walked off, the blonde pushing the trolley and the other seemingly carrying on with her story.

The cashier was looking expectantly at her and Jean realized that she had totalled up. It was four pounds and eighty-seven pence. She had the right money, it just meant sorting her change out. She had an inkling that the people behind her were becoming impatient. She noticed their stacks of items all lined and waiting, it seemed, for starter’s orders. Brown bread and peppers, olive oil and lentils and, in the centre, a stray packet of beefburgers.

She gave over her money and picked up her carrier bag. She felt a sense of relief to be away from the mass of people. She felt out of place, a non conformer, half a consumer unit.

Walking out of the door she wondered what she might have for tea. Possibly chicken, she thought, with salad. Walking towards her car she thought she should have bought the cookery book after all. She suddenly felt much better in the fresh air. She’d buy it next week. And in future she’d buy a large salad cream. After all, what if people came round unexpectedly?