Tales from the supermarket
Day and night this temple of food and various other items welcomes a myriad of people through its electronically operated doors. They come, they go. They buy, they mooch. The supermarket is a most popular haunt for the people that live within the local multicultural community and so it seems individuals from further a field, such is the growing cosmopolitan nature of the city in which this grandiose synagogue of the common man resides.
Lost in translation.
The local woman has worked at the supermarket for more than five years. She likes her job. Her nature is friendly and warm. Her checkout manner more than suggests that she has perhaps found her calling in life. Serving the public as she does, with consummate aplomb. Her regional accent is strong and for the untrained ear - it takes some getting used to. This feature could add to her charm.
A foreign man of average height from Middle Eastern shores arrives at the slowly metronome moving checkout conveyor belt. His small plastic basket harbours a few items that he deems essential to a single guy. Gazing down at his contents he anticipates the haloumi cheese and hummus that will be complemented by the packet of pitta bread that all sit comfortably with his other bits and pieces. The food that he regularly enjoys looks back at him suggestively.
Dressed in garb that looks like a delightful mish mash of formal attire and 80's inspired sports wear all serve to create an unusual marriage of styles.
Wondering for a moment if he should have picked up a packet of biscuits - his attention is diverted by a peculiar sounding female voice repeatedly addressing the customers with words such as "babe" and "love". They seem unperturbed by the words that part from her husky mouth. Every now and again she breaks out into a hearty laugh that intrigues his curious mind.
Her voice is a far cry away to the women back home and on further inspection - he decides that the make up she wears resembles that of circus clown, along with her complexion which looks like citrus fruit. On processing these thoughts he concludes that she is OK looking. A little bit sexy and lovely.
Before realising it - she is upon him. He is greeted with a loud "Alright love, need any help with ya packin'?" a bemused look overtakes his face. Love... he thinks to himself, maybe she like my nice clothes.
"Err, I OK..." he replies. She nods and smiles her pretty white teeth at him, as she continues to scan his shopping. His items come to £10.50p. "£10.50p sweetheart..." She lazily stretches out her palm. He fumbles for a moment in his worn leather wallet for the correct currency.
Sweetheart...he ponders about this word for a second or two. He is aware that this is a pleasant word, although it confuses him somewhat. Smiling at the woman his bushy moustache can not hide his little teeth as they showcase themselves to the female. He has now surmised that she is flirting with him, because she must be attracted to him. And why not, he, of course, is a looking good guy, he tells himself.
A sleazy look begins to transpire on his masculine face - before uttering: "Excuse me loouve, maybe I take you out one night, we go for a kebab, maybe?"
Big blue eyes widen momentarily, before she proceedes to laugh to herself then rolls her eyes in amusement - before replying: "Erm, sorry babe - I have a fella. Haha, aren't you a funny sweetheart...a kebab like! Sorry, but that can't happen..."
Complete and utter confusion runs around in his mind like an hyper active child. Looking at the checkout girl for a moment he wonders if she is telling joke, then he quickly deciphers that she isn't and he feels decidedly stupid.
"OK, bye." He mumbles under his moustache. Grabbing his carrier bag clutching it tight to his shell suit jacket before swiftly making his getaway.
The supermarkets bright lights could not be any brighter than the shame and embarrassment that he feels as he makes a hasty beeline for the looming exit.
Demola, TCC
Lost in translation.
The local woman has worked at the supermarket for more than five years. She likes her job. Her nature is friendly and warm. Her checkout manner more than suggests that she has perhaps found her calling in life. Serving the public as she does, with consummate aplomb. Her regional accent is strong and for the untrained ear - it takes some getting used to. This feature could add to her charm.
A foreign man of average height from Middle Eastern shores arrives at the slowly metronome moving checkout conveyor belt. His small plastic basket harbours a few items that he deems essential to a single guy. Gazing down at his contents he anticipates the haloumi cheese and hummus that will be complemented by the packet of pitta bread that all sit comfortably with his other bits and pieces. The food that he regularly enjoys looks back at him suggestively.
Dressed in garb that looks like a delightful mish mash of formal attire and 80's inspired sports wear all serve to create an unusual marriage of styles.
Wondering for a moment if he should have picked up a packet of biscuits - his attention is diverted by a peculiar sounding female voice repeatedly addressing the customers with words such as "babe" and "love". They seem unperturbed by the words that part from her husky mouth. Every now and again she breaks out into a hearty laugh that intrigues his curious mind.
Her voice is a far cry away to the women back home and on further inspection - he decides that the make up she wears resembles that of circus clown, along with her complexion which looks like citrus fruit. On processing these thoughts he concludes that she is OK looking. A little bit sexy and lovely.
Before realising it - she is upon him. He is greeted with a loud "Alright love, need any help with ya packin'?" a bemused look overtakes his face. Love... he thinks to himself, maybe she like my nice clothes.
"Err, I OK..." he replies. She nods and smiles her pretty white teeth at him, as she continues to scan his shopping. His items come to £10.50p. "£10.50p sweetheart..." She lazily stretches out her palm. He fumbles for a moment in his worn leather wallet for the correct currency.
Sweetheart...he ponders about this word for a second or two. He is aware that this is a pleasant word, although it confuses him somewhat. Smiling at the woman his bushy moustache can not hide his little teeth as they showcase themselves to the female. He has now surmised that she is flirting with him, because she must be attracted to him. And why not, he, of course, is a looking good guy, he tells himself.
A sleazy look begins to transpire on his masculine face - before uttering: "Excuse me loouve, maybe I take you out one night, we go for a kebab, maybe?"
Big blue eyes widen momentarily, before she proceedes to laugh to herself then rolls her eyes in amusement - before replying: "Erm, sorry babe - I have a fella. Haha, aren't you a funny sweetheart...a kebab like! Sorry, but that can't happen..."
Complete and utter confusion runs around in his mind like an hyper active child. Looking at the checkout girl for a moment he wonders if she is telling joke, then he quickly deciphers that she isn't and he feels decidedly stupid.
"OK, bye." He mumbles under his moustache. Grabbing his carrier bag clutching it tight to his shell suit jacket before swiftly making his getaway.
The supermarkets bright lights could not be any brighter than the shame and embarrassment that he feels as he makes a hasty beeline for the looming exit.
Demola, TCC
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