A very bad weekend

Friday - 7:40 pm

I have been in line for more than twenty minutes but it seems that I have not moved more than a few inches. Stopping at the supermarket on a Friday night was a really great idea. Besides, I'm sure I've bought a bunch of stuff I don't need and I've forgotten something essential. But... what?

I absolutely have to remember to make the shopping list. Or maybe I could buy a board, so I can write on it every time I finish something. Yes, I will do so! A simple slate, those to use with a marker, a small one. I can put it next to the fridge, or maybe stick it on. I just need to find the magnetic type. I must have seen them somewhere.

I look at my watch again while the cashier is chatting cheerfully with an eighty-year-old lady who looks so much like one of those hags, whose often I cross paths when I'm in the frozen food department and buy one of those ready-made packages that you just need to put in the microwave for a few minutes. One of those ladies who look at you from top to bottom with that air of disapproval because, at my age, I still don't have a ring on my finger, three or four critters to feed with genuine home-made products. In short, one of those ladies who consider it basic that a girl likes to cook and keep a house clean. The cashier chats happily creating a long line. Shouldn't it be banned by the Consumer Rights Association or something? Isn't there a clause that protects the customer from such expectations? Had they made a law about it, or not? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it was about post offices...

The guy in front of me gives an angry grunt and I see the cashier and the eighty-year-old lady look at him with a sour face. The guy has all my understanding.

After a further twenty minutes I can finally get out of the supermarket and trudge with the two bags to the flat, playing sleight of hand with the keys and the switch that turns on the staircase lights.

In the end, I manage to get home but, when I start to put my shopping in order, I realize that I have plenty of ready-made sauces, ice cream as well, pasta and sugar too but, of course, I miss milk and coffee, which is practically a tragedy.

How do I start the day without coffee? How can I do? How? Coffee is my lifeblood. My manna in the desert. My personal narcotic that allows me to get by. I look at the clock I have in the kitchen and realize that it is after eight, almost ten past eight actually, and I immediately reject the idea of going back to the supermarket. So I resign myself and go to the bed area to change.

Alright.

Alright.

Tomorrow is Saturday, I don't have to work and I can easily go to the café to get a cappuccino.

I slip into my super soft jumpsuit and start warming up a pre-cooked dish accompanied by a voice-over commenting on a documentary on the Belle Époque. The broadcast ends just as I finish dinner and so I change the channel, bearing with a very idiotic program while I wash the dishes and finish tidying up the kitchen.

I'm determined to dive into my nice flannel pyjamas and stand in front of the TV (I can always watch a film on DVD, don't you think?), when the phone rings and Miriam's voice starts to squeak on the other side of the handset.

«Didn't you listen to the vocal message I sent you?» She tells me.

I move the smartphone away from my face for a moment and scroll through the messages.

There are several unheard voice messages.

«Er... no.» I answer her.

To tell the truth, I haven't listened to voicemail messages for all day.

«I tried to contact you on your cell phone but you didn't answer. So I called you to the office twice, but the first you were at lunch or something similar and the second as well... how many times do you go to lunch?» She asks me, and I begin to explain the story of Lu and the brown file and Rebecca. I omit the whole affair of Mr. Moreno, not because I want to hide it from her, mind you, but if I told her about him, she would keep me on the phone for a couple of hours talking about absolutely nothing and speculating of all kinds. Not that I pay much attention to it, but I don't want to start making mental films that would keep me up all night.