Chapter 12 A new man ~ a new phase in life.
A year or so after Paul moved away I had got into the habit of taking a cab to the Waitrose store in South Woodford on a Wednesday to do my grocery shopping and to spend time in the coffee shop with a group of single ladies of my age putting the world to rights.
On one such visit I was struggling to get a tin from a higher shelf, every time I thought I had it, it moved further back on the shelf. I was getting a trifle exasperated. Looking round I saw a young black man standing near me and smiling, He was very smart in his suit and tie, and I presumed him to be staff, perhaps one of the trainee managers. Just casual racism on my part but in my defence, this was Waitrose and South Woodford, the area that had returned Winston Churchill to Parliament for 40 or so years. I was quite short with him and told him to stop gawping and help me. He handed me the tin and smiled again, I ******d off without thanking him.
A little latter I was sitting in the coffee shop when he walked up with his tray and asked if he could join me. I said something to the effect of 'Shouldn’t you be working’, he laughed and told me he wasn’t a Waitrose staff member. I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t stop apologising, but he was very forgiving and soon we were chatting like old friends over our coffees, until the other single old ladies parked their trollies and came over with their coffees. There were the expected ‘He’s nice, where did you find him’ until they got onto the important business of their delayed hip operations and how useless young people are today.
A couple of weeks later I was waiting in the store to use the dedicated cab phone when he came up and asked if I would like a lift home as he was just leaving. He put my groceries in the boot of his shiny black car and took me home. We had a nice little chat. Apparently, he worked for a computer company who were hoping to get a contract with Waitrose and he visited all the store in Essex and north London assessing shopping patterns and how people chose the queue they would join at the checkout. He was usually at the Waitrose store Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Wednesdays and Thursdays became my shopping days and I looked out for him. He wasn’t always there but if he was, he bought me coffee and took me home, often sitting in his car outside my house just talking. He told me some of his story and I told him how I had come to move from Staffordshire to London. He had assumed I was widowed or divorced and was surprised to find I was neither.
to be continued
On one such visit I was struggling to get a tin from a higher shelf, every time I thought I had it, it moved further back on the shelf. I was getting a trifle exasperated. Looking round I saw a young black man standing near me and smiling, He was very smart in his suit and tie, and I presumed him to be staff, perhaps one of the trainee managers. Just casual racism on my part but in my defence, this was Waitrose and South Woodford, the area that had returned Winston Churchill to Parliament for 40 or so years. I was quite short with him and told him to stop gawping and help me. He handed me the tin and smiled again, I ******d off without thanking him.
A little latter I was sitting in the coffee shop when he walked up with his tray and asked if he could join me. I said something to the effect of 'Shouldn’t you be working’, he laughed and told me he wasn’t a Waitrose staff member. I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t stop apologising, but he was very forgiving and soon we were chatting like old friends over our coffees, until the other single old ladies parked their trollies and came over with their coffees. There were the expected ‘He’s nice, where did you find him’ until they got onto the important business of their delayed hip operations and how useless young people are today.
A couple of weeks later I was waiting in the store to use the dedicated cab phone when he came up and asked if I would like a lift home as he was just leaving. He put my groceries in the boot of his shiny black car and took me home. We had a nice little chat. Apparently, he worked for a computer company who were hoping to get a contract with Waitrose and he visited all the store in Essex and north London assessing shopping patterns and how people chose the queue they would join at the checkout. He was usually at the Waitrose store Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Wednesdays and Thursdays became my shopping days and I looked out for him. He wasn’t always there but if he was, he bought me coffee and took me home, often sitting in his car outside my house just talking. He told me some of his story and I told him how I had come to move from Staffordshire to London. He had assumed I was widowed or divorced and was surprised to find I was neither.
to be continued
6年前
