After coffee with some (conservative, of course) friends on Friday morning I wandered into Coles to buy some groceries. I went to one of the few manned checkouts that they have these days. There was no queue and I proceeded to unload my stuff onto the conveyor belt – if that is what it’s called.
Before I knew it a loose potato and then an apple and some other assorted stuff starting melding into mine. The young checkout chap, an Asian guy, started to pack my bag with foreign items. I said stop and turned to see a forty something-aged man behind me quite careless of my situation. I said why didn’t you put one of those barrier strips – which are readily available – between your shopping and mine. I might have said it impatiently. Yes, okay, I did say it impatiently.
Instead of saying sorry to diffuse the situation he told me not to get uptight; that it would be easily sorted. I retorted. It would not need to be sorted if you had done the right thing from the start. From there the exchange became heated. Silly really. The checkout guy looked uncomfortable.
Anway, walking home, I felt remorseful for not being a better person. After all, I was wearing my “Jesus (El Rey Vienne)” hat at the time. It should have reminded me to be kind to those who irritate me; that sort of thing. Alas, I am definitely part contributor to this fallen world.
However, I saw a Christian woman who I know as I was about to enter my apartment building. I explained what had happened. Tsk, tsk she said, don’t be remorseful about that, save your remorse for something more serious. Made me feel a lot better. Not nearly so sinful.
Better, that is, until I saw in my shopping bag a bottle of hot chilli sauce. Obviously, the chap behind me was the macho kind who like hot chilli sauce. I hate it. I vaguely understand the attraction of hot chilli. But, to me, it is akin to a fat Havana cigar or Scotch whiskey. I like the idea, until I come to smoke or drink it. Then not so much. On the other hand, a Cuban cigarillo and a fine red wine are quite different kettles of fish.
I have had a couple of meals in those Thia restaurants catering for those with strong constitutions. Sweating profusely and eating at the one time, while paying for the privilege, is not my idea of a good time. Eating Italian or French is much more refined and enjoyable. I image they serve hot chilli in Hell. Which is where I risk ending up unless I mend my ways and start turning the other cheek.
Normal convention is that the person unloading puts the barrier down, not the person behind them. Stop being a moron.
First I have ever of that “convention.”
Anyway, who leaves loose fruit and vegies loose and unbagged on the conveyor to roll around?
Guy behind was entirely at fault.
Turn it into a positive. Try just a tiny bit in spaghetti (or similar), or mix it with mayonnaise or tomato sauce (plenty of) and use it as a dip. Slowly increase volume and/or decrease mayo/tomato.
I recognise chilli can be hard to take when you’re not used to it, but it is really worth building up a bit of a tolerance: it makes food wake up. Medium curries in particular are much much much better than mild. You’ll kick yourself for missing out.
That was fun!
Take it back for a refund.
The Christian thing to do would be to pass that yummy chilli on to someone needy who might enjoy it. Food depots for the poor don’t usually run to such tasty luxuries.
You’re lucky, most of my old friends identify as lefty light socialist types whilst their lifestyles are anything but. They have the latest cars, hobnob at expensive restaurants, proclaim climate change as rampant and love renewables, but not one of them has panels. A catch-up over coffee usually turns into a jousting session. At the moment I’ve got the high ground. I don’t say much, just listen and smile knowingly.