Wednesday, March 31, 2010
that sainsbury's experience
My hands are so cold they’re fiery hot. Ever had that? When you’ve been walking around in the blisteringly freezing rain and your hands start to feel like someone ignited them with a blowtorch?
So. As I type this, my keyboard is melting. Christ, are my fingers gonna fall off?
I go and collect my mate’s ski kit that I’m borrowing for our Meribel sojourn in Fwonce.
After 3 train journeys, carting around this massive snowsuit – a two piece before you ask – I step onto a bus, touch a railing, wipe the rain out of my eyes, and almost immediately: fuck.
Searing pain, mascara everywhere, tears running out of my now-exploding right eyeball.
When your mother warned you never to touch public railings, heed her advice for God’s sake.
Was it dirt? Was it mustard gas? Was it the traces of people’s wank juice? What the fuck was in my eyeball?
Stumbling out, ski suit, laptop bag and such in tow, couldn’t see anything, and kind of stumbled towards the orange light that is a Sainsbury’s supermarket.
I was going blind. And I was panicking.
The headline in my overactive head was screaming, ‘Terrorists Now Smearing Bus Railings With Sarin, Saffa’s Face Explodes.’
Crisis. Got into Sainsbury’s –while the soothing sounds of Billy Joel’s I Love You Just The Way You Are kind of filled the busy aisles like a bad baff, and I wondered: would he love me just the way I am…if I had to wear a pirate patch from now on?
It was so bloody sore, mascara and fluids were streaming from what seemed like every orifice in my face, as I reached for a bottle of the Cape’s finest rouge for me and Brit’s dinner.
‘Finest’ means it’s more than £4, but less than £10, and won’t make you blind, which is ironic since at this moment, I was halfway there.
Break out the Braille, my cornea is on fire.
Was my right eyeball bulging out of my head at this point? By the looks of the random strangers, yes, it was.
Arrive at counter. Ask for some cigarettes.
‘How old are you?’ he asks.
‘Woah… [squinting with the functioning eyeball] er…Scanjay. ……Seriously?’
'Wait. Are you ID-ing ME?’
‘Dude. Are you for real. Because if not, you’ve just created the best pick-up line. Evah.’
Leave shop, the din is clearing, I can see chavvy people! I can see, I can see! I can see! I can also see I’ve bought probably the crappest wine on the planet, possibly brewed in Retreat and imported by accident.
Oh well. Besides the red, swollen eyeball, I think I have conquered the daily grind, grocery shopping, and being so cold my hands almost fell off.
Christ, I’m almost domestic.