Being Suspiciously Regarded.

I sometimes find that checkout operators in supermarkets appear to be mentally crossing their fingers in a gesture of defence when I appear at their till. Since I rarely do other than exchange the odd polite, predictable pleasantry with checkout operators, I’m moved to wonder why. I suppose it must be the things that come sliding along the belt like illegal immigrants disembarking at Dover.

‘Where’s the meat? Where’s the smoked mackerel? Where’s the trifle and the New York cheesecake? Where are the packets of fish fingers and microwave chips? All I see is alcohol, oatcakes, cheese, a few token fruit and vegetables, and more alcohol. Does anybody have a stake and a hammer about their person?’

I had one such checkout operator today. I considered telling her about the children of the night and what music they make, but thought better of it. The credit card worked as usual, so why wake sleeping dogs?