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| Joffrey the chicken hiding in the bushes |
Standing at
the entrance of our local shop yesterday, swearing prolifically and attempting
to separate the shopping baskets which some idiot had jammed together, I felt a
light tap on my shoulder.
It was an elderly
gentleman.
“Can I help
you with that?” he asked. “They’re a nuisance when they get stuck together,
aren’t they?” he added, holding the basket out to me.
I nodded in agreement as
I furtively checked him over for signs of fever, heavy breathing or a cold
sweat.
Having just
heard on the car radio that our Prime Minister had cancelled all public
gatherings in response to the spread of Covid 19, I was a bit on edge.
The old guy
seemed to be healthy, but you could never know for sure.
Anyone could be a
carrier.
I’ve heard that victims ‘shed’ the virus before they show symptoms and the
gentleman’s hands were all over the shopping basket where I was about to place
my mushrooms, organic lettuce and tea-tree scented toothpaste.
Scanning
his body for any type of ‘shedding’, proved to be problematic.
How would I know what to look
for?
Would flakes of infected skin start to fall off him? Would his ears and
nose and other orifices seep a discernible watery liquid? Or worse… would
invisible deadly particles rush from his plague-ridden breath straight up my
unsullied and mostly pristine nostrils?
But then I
realised that all manner of contaminated people might have already touched the
basket and there was no way I’d know, so I threw caution to the wind and
accepted the basket graciously from the kind man.
I must say,
there was a strange feeling in the air though.
Something I couldn’t quite put
my finger on.
It was a bit like the overt aura of magnanimous cheer you can
sense at Christmas. Everyone seemed to be smiling and nodding at each other in
mutual good humour… but there was no silver tinsel festooned around the
newspaper stand, no Michael Buble carols playing on the speakers, and none of
the staff were wearing silly antlers.
There was a decided air of nervous expectancy.
Did these people believe the rumours the country was about to go into lockdown?
I noticed
that most people’s shopping trolleys were overloaded just like at Christmas
time, too. But instead of hams and pavlova ingredients, the trolleys were full
of paper towels, bleach and long-life milk.
Suddenly, I
panicked. I had to get out of the shop before the virus got me. Long-life milk
signalled end times. In every apocalypse movie, people are hoarding long-life
milk and cigarettes.
But there
was no time to scour the aisles for long-life bloody milk. I’d drink my coffee
black.
By this
stage I had seven apples and a lettuce in my basket. I quickly calculated that
if I cut the apples in quarters, I could make one apple last me all day for
seven days straight. After I’d eaten the apples, I could start rationing the
lettuce. Three leaves a day would probably be enough. I could take the iron
tablets already in my fridge to supplement any nutritional shortfall. If worst
came to worst and the country did go into lockdown, I would at least survive
for two weeks.
“Do you
have your senior’s card yet?” asked the mousy, toad-like hag at the check-out.
“No!” I
snapped back at her.
The
mealy-mouthed witch asks me this every single Tuesday because apparently all
the seniors get a 5% discount or some shite and she thinks I look like an effing
senior when I clearly have ANOTHER SIX AND A HALF MONTHS BEFORE I’M A FUCKING
SENIOR THANK YOU VERY FECKING MUCH YOU HIDEOUS TROLL!
All the way driving home, I kept coming up with smart answers for next time the bitch asks me.
Something
subtle and backhanded, like…
“I really
admire you! I would never have the courage to go three weeks without washing my
hair. How do you do it?”
or
“No dear, I’m
not old enough for a senior’s card yet, but tell me, what’s the best bargain you’ve
ever bought with yours?”
Or the
slightly less subtle but quite witty, “Listen you rude, unctuous be-artch, you might
think I’m old but at least when I was your age, I wasn’t an ugly, creepy twat
like you and when I do turn sixty you can stick your piddling 5% discount up
your clacker.”
I was in
such a lather that I’d forgotten to buy my tea-tree flavoured toothpaste which
was disappointing because if there’s a lockdown and I run out of food, I could
have rationed it out for at least a week.
We do own seven chickens and I suppose we could wait for them to die, put them in the freezer
then eat them one at a time.
We couldn’t kill them of course. Not because we’re
cruelty free hippies or anything, but because they hide under the deck and we’d never catch
them what with being weak from existing on apples and lettuce for two weeks.
Besides, I’m
supposed to be a vegetarian and vegetarians don't eat chicken.
Will Uber
Eats still deliver in a lockdown?
Would we
have to get them to leave the food in the driveway and watch from the window
until they leave?
How will they deliver since they'll be in a lockdown too?
Do you have
any answers for me?
Asking for a chicken.
