Groceries:
- Eggs
- Bread
- Milk
- Veggies
- Fruit
- Juice
- Pasta
- Tea
- Coffee
- Rice
- Snacks
- Crackers
- Yoghurt
I check my list one more time to make sure I have everything I need. “Shampoo!” I yell out loud to myself in my empty studio apartment. I knew I forgot something. I scribble it quickly at the bottom, grab some grocery bags, my purse and my keys and head out the door.
When I arrive at the supermarket I see that the parking lot is fairly empty. Good, that means it’s probably not too busy. I hate it when it’s busy in supermarkets and people just bump their carts into you. I’m silly like that. Besides I always wonder how people seem to be able to just hit me. Is it because I am just such a freaking big target to hit? Usually when it happens to me I am good for a nice sarcastic remark such as: “Sorry, I thought I could just stand here.” Or “Excuse me for existing.”
Last month a lady bumped into me twice in a row and as I saw her nearing me again over by the deli department, I asked the lady fixing a plate for customers to taste, if she could make crackers with arsenic for all those customers who kept bumping into others. Apparently the bumper-cart-lady over heard me and gave me a glare that could kill. Couldn’t help myself; I had to giggle a little.
Today is different, as the parking lot tells me. Not that I need a space on the parking lot, with my bike, which fits neatly into the rack outside, but it’s still a good indicator. I walk into the store to find my assumptions to be right. Hardly anyone in here. Good, I can make a speedy trip through the isles and be outside within 45 minutes. Sadly, once I get to the bread section some old lady still seems to have overlooked my size 16 and her carts bumps into my royal ass and bounces off slightly. As I am about to turn around and give a snide remark I hear a “I am so sorry.” Even before I manage to turn my head and so I decide to forgive the culprit on the spot.
After just over half an hour I arrive at the cashregister, with my cart loaded with a lot more in than was on my presumptuous list. Well, as long as I can stuff it all into two bags, I should be good. Even before my watch tells me forty minutes have passed, I am walking out of the store, being absolutely balanced by my two heavy bags. When I get home I really need to re-ponder the sudden need I thought I had for two bottles of wine and a gallon of orange juice instead of the usual quart. With great craftsmanship I manage to balance the two immensely heavy bags on the handle of my bicycle. With a little bit of magic and some muscle work, I manage to get myself on the saddle in between and before I know it, I am on the road.
With every stroke my toes alternating my knees gently hit the grocery bags, which makes my struggle to balance it all quite a lot harder, but I manage to move forward, slowly. Then some guy passing in a car apparently thinks it must look very funny and decides to honk at me. Never even for a moment considering the odd chance that his honk my actually startle me and I might fall off my bike. Well, I do. Just as I was going to cross the street, I fall sideways off my bike, and it, still heavy with bags, comes down on me like a brick.”There go the eggs.” A voice echo’s through my head. The driver must have realized his mistake because as I am struggling to get back up form under my bicycle and two heavy bags, I see that he has parked his car on the side of the road and is making his way over to me. His face looks worried and guilty. I really do try to refrain from any sarcasm but still a slight remark just pops out before I can stop it. “Well aren’t you just prince charming on a metal horse!” I try not to look at him and just hope he didn’t hear me, but as he’s pulling the bike off me his face looks fraught with guilt. He can’t even manage to speak properly anymore.
“So sorry…. Had no idea…. Didn’t mean to…”I heard him mumble. When I get up from under my bike I stupidly start gathering a bunch of cherry tomatoes that rolled onto the road out of my bag but the ongoing traffic has no care for my groceries and honks me off the pavement. And so I turn around to see the driver standing in the grass with my bike. Shaking his head over it. Shaking the head is not good. Really. Not. Good. I make my way over to him shouting: “That’s my only means of transportation damnit!” He looks up from the bike and at me, running towards him.
“ I am so sorry for all of this, let me give you a ride home. We can put your bike and bags in the back and then we can get the insurance papers started.” Insurance, on my bike, right! I let him hoist everything into the car and get in the passenger seat myself. On the way to my place I am still too angry to talk, although he does some meager attempts. “I am George by the way.” He says in his friendliest, most apologetic tone. “Angie.” I grunt back at him. I am still wondering what on earth possessed him to honk at someone who’s already almost falling of her bike. But I cannot become calm enough to actually ask him.
By the time we get to my place most of the anger has been replaced with disappointment about my broken bike. George pulls everything out of the back of his truck and helps me drag it all inside.
“So, let me give you my information so we can let insurance take care of this.” He proposes, as we are making our way to the second floor with torn grocery bags and a broken bike. “My bike wasn’t ensured, George, it’s not like a car.” My voice is still not friendly. “Well, let me pay for the costs to get it repaired then.” He offers. His tone of voice is still very apologetic and I can hear he’s putting in a effort, so I decide to get over myself and I ask him in for a cup of tea while he writes down his info.
When we get inside I put the kettle on and start unpacking the groceries, while George has seated himself at my kitchen table and is writing down his phone number and address. “You know, this isn’t normally how I give my number to a pretty woman.” I turn as he starts speaking and see a grin forming on his face. “Whatever.” Is the only thing going through my mind in response to his remark. The water is ready so I put a big mug of tea in front of him and sit down at the other end of the table.
“When you get it fixed, just let me know how much it costs ok?” He says before he hands me the piece of paper. When he stretches his arm out to reach me, a large, metal watch becomes visible on his wrist. I guess we both noticed because suddenly he says: “Oh my, look at the time, I have to be somewhere about 15 minutes ago. Sorry to rush out. Call me ok?” And he storms out of the apartment.
This all happens in such a quick movement that it takes me a few more seconds to process. I walk towards the window, tea in one hand, his note in the other, and open it to watch him get into his car. While pulling the window open as wide as I can, the wind grabs hold of the piece of paper in my hand and draws it outside. I watch it blow up high in the sky, while beneath me a car just turns the corner of the street, seemingly in quite a rush.
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