Finding My Place

Small Town Pros and Cons

After yesterday's stock take of the near empty fridge and cupboards, I hyped myself up as i grabbed a handful of carrier bags from under the kitchen sink. I stuffed them into a canvas bag perched on the kitchen table. Walking through the lounge, I grabbed my keys and phone from the side and heaved myself out of the door. My shopping list was ever growing on my notes app. The two page list already made my bank account scream, and my biceps hurt with the ides of lugging it to and from the car. Still adding to it as I reach the car, I automatically swap out my regular glasses for tinted ones, cracked open the window and began to suck on my vape. Deeply inhaling the nicotine and exhaling the watermelon scented clouds.
I switched from the notes to music and blared my motivations playlist on Spotify. Zara larsons cover of Lay All Your Love On Me, filled the car and improved my mood as I drove out of the coldisac.

There was pros and cons of living in a small town. Living close to friends, making the drunken stumbles home after a night filled with laughter and catch up drinks easier. Community spirit at local festivals. The pros are brilliant when my social battery is full.

Right now however, as I unclipped my seabelt, the cons of living in a small town are imminent. Small towns mean that everyone and their dog are currently in the supermarket doing the big shop. The people from school, with their double prams and flashing diamond wedding ring. The creep regular from the corner shop, who always made a point of telling me he was recently divorced. The judgmental mum of an old school friend who just had to tell you all about how her golden child was thriving, while passing judgement on your answers to the inevitable "and what are you up to now?". Or the friends who you once considered best running through the mandatory "we should meet up some time". I wasn't in the mood. Where I could log off of social media, and leave messages unread, in the safety of my cocoon, out in the wild, that survive tactic will make this excursion 3 times as long and 10 times as draining. Although, my need for survival also means braving the interactions to have the nutritious meal of chocolaty Cereal drenched in oat milk.

I pull into the car park, and the volume of cars confirm my suspensions. Fuck me, its going to be a school reunion in there. Parking in one of the scarcly avaliable places, the furthest away from the shop. No wonder it was empty. I park next to a sleek black porche, with a personalised number plate. I suspect heave chosen this space to avoid the commin dinks and prangs when parked near other vehicles. As slide my 2007 grey KA in the space beside it, the old banger looks like scap metal in comparison.

"Right" I sigh, unclipped my belt and grabbing my bag. I unplug my phone from the stereo and connect my headphones. Added defence to scape the jungle unscathed. I restart my playlist and max out the volume, swapping from Spotify to my shopping list once more. Deep breath. I gently open my door, ensuring not to hit the precious whips driver door.

Squeezing my arse between the two cars, I make it to the other side and make a beeline for the trolley park.

At the final aisle I skimmed through my list. Everything picked up and successfully managed to weave from fruit and veg, to homeware without a strained interaction. I out my phone in my bag, look down the aisle and see a free check out. No fucking way! I take huge strides, closing the gap, flashes of baby nappies, candles and car oil blurred in my peripherals. I'm about 5 strides out.... 4...3... I'm going to make it. 2. 1. I get to the end of the aisle and I'm greated with eye brow raises with 4 aisles lined with inpatient shoppers awaiting their call forward to avaliable checkouts.
The sales assistant had apparently just signed on to the till and was just about to call on the awaited crowd to hound her. FUCK IT! It was too good to be true.
Now seemingly on stage to other shoppers as I make my walk of shame to the back of the queue. I stared at my trolley, too many items to qualify for the high flying self checkout, which contained multiple shoppers weaving in and out as they scanned their own items and left, while my queue made no movement.
I accepted my fate, and fiddled in my bag to seek my phone for entertainment to pass the time. Not an ounce of 3G indicated on my phone, i relied on ever faith solitaire.
I could hear harsh words exchanged by shoppers at the front "queues here mate". A few moments later the offending "mate" reinacted my earlier walk of shame as queued up behind me.
Half an hour later, it was my time to shine. "Next" the shop assistant I had sprinted too previously was stone faced. Obviously been verbally pounded with irritated words from toe tapping shoppings. I dump all my goods onto the belt and head to the bagging area. FUCK IT! THE BAGS!!! EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME. I signed.