I may never drink my beloved Ribena again; you see I am hiding from the security guard at Tesco. As most of you don’t know me that well, I must point out that it’s not because I have stolen anything, unless you count his heart, that is.
Several months ago I found myself being greeted (and fare welled) by the security guard at my local Tesco. I decided to keep my accumulated cynicism that comes from five years living in London, at bay. I always smiled back or said ‘hello’ as he stood with one eye on me and one eye on the people brave enough to use the self-service checkouts (we all know you have zero chance of getting through that experience without having to call for back up.)
Then one day the security guard asked me for my name. I was so taken aback, that I told him my real name and then scurried out the door with my groceries (groceries being a label that covers all manner of sins, such as Kit Kats, Ribena and ginger beer for vodka mixing.)
Now at this point some of you may be asking what could be so bad a about a nice guy wanting to talk to me? And admittedly I had always felt incomplete for not having a stalker of my own. But you see I was worried that if things got weird I was going to have my Kit Kat supply cut off. And sure enough, it turns out I was annoyingly right.
Last week my security guard (see how I have taken ownership of him) came up to me in the dairy aisle to say hello. Again all I managed in response was a ‘hi.’ Thinking that this was the end of his courting for the day, I went to the checkout with my organic lettuce and organic eggs (I have changed the true contents of the basket in case my personal trainer is reading,) and made for the door. As I did, he passed me a note, which was exciting, because this hadn’t happened to me since 1987. I walked out and waited a bit before reading it. OK, I lasted at least seven metres before I had to have a look, and then called a girlfriend as fast as my fingers could scroll though my iPhone.
‘Well, he has given me his number and says that he wants to be my ‘friend’,’ I said down the phone.
When the laughing subsided (it hasn’t really stopped, even now,) she pointed out that I would have to do my shopping elsewhere from now on. I stopped laughing.
It has been three days since my last glass of Ribena. My long suffering dentist will be thrilled to read this, but he’ll know that I can get my Kit Kats from one of ten other local peddlers of tooth decay.
Anyway, the upside of all this is that I am reminded that it is possible to meet men anywhere, even in the local supermarket. It also gives me hope that if I go to enough stores I might meet someone I actually want to date… not if I keep eating Kit Kats admittedly. On the other hand, if it means I run out of grocery stores in Zone 1 to shop at, I will have to keep my eyes firmly on the ground whilst I shop in future. Thank God my waxing artist didn’t try and crack on to me… there are some things I just cannot go without.