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Commodity Prisons
(published in Cadenza, January 2006)
'The credit card was repor'ed missin', not stolen, innit?,' she said to the two large security men as she stood at the front of the supermarket Help Desk queue.
The girl was smartly dressed in a short black skirt, black tights and shoes, a silky white blouse. She had a page-boy haircut and well-defined features.
'Let me go!' she shouted to the security men on either side of her, and clutched her Gucci-style bag to her stomach.
I was standing towards the back of the Help-Desk queue, along with a number of other disgruntled Hackney shoppers. I was holding my large, plump organic chicken, which I had bought earlier in the day, as it had been knocked down to half-price. But when I got home I realized I had been charged the full price.
'We wish all our customers a Very Merry Christmas' a cheerful female voice said through the supermarket sound system.
From the back of the store, a thin young man wearing dark trousers, blue shirt, tie, identity badge, walked swiftly down one of the aisles and straight up to the girl.
The two security men stood a few paces back.
The young man put his face close to the girl.
Her soft and fluid dark-red lips curled into a mocking smile.
'Do you have enough wrapping paper for Christmas?' the speakers asked us.
The supermarket official said loudly, 'We told you never to come to this store again.'
She bit her bottom lip.
The official went on, 'Are you stupid or something?'
We all watched like sly viewers of a dirty film.
'This year we are offering our customers a truly international Christmas - dates from Morocco, wines for dessert from Portugal, cold meats with a difference from Spain, the sweetest Californian sultanas, not forgetting top-quality sirloin steaks from Scotland, or Stilton and real apple cider from Somerset - and everything at our super-competitive seasonal prices'.
'That's nice, innit?' she laughed.
The girl, a street-wise twenty, looked for a moment at me, her unblinking eyes assessing me with the speed of a computer. Her tongue slipped out from between her teeth like a snake about to bite. I've seen through you she seemed to say.
Her eyes scared and enticed me.
I gazed up the aisles stuffed with shiny goods of every shape. Huge trolleys were being pushed up the motorway-straight aisles by a wide variety of people. Those with the most bulging trolleys looked the happiest.
'Jingle bells, jingle bells jingle all the way'.
'Come with us to the office!' the official said.
'I ain't done nothin'.'
One of the security men grabbed her arm.
'Get off me!' She slid to the floor, cradling her knees against her stomach, her short dress hugging her thighs.
'This way!' the young man shouted.
'I ain't going nowhere.' She placed her handbag demurely across her knees.
'May we remind our customers that our luxury 900g Christmas Puddings are sold with a free miniature bottle of Coburn's port'.
The security men lifted the sitting girl and carried her up an aisle to the back of the store.
'Let go, bastards!'
Her kicking left leg dislodged a stack of Festive Xmas Crackers.
'Comfort and joy, comfort and joy, great tidings of comfort and joy'.
Soon I was at the front of the queue.
'Yes,' the assistant said coldly.
'You overcharged me for my organic chicken.'
'Do you have the receipt?'
I handed it to her. She showed it to another assistant.
In grudging silence she handed me the money.
'The first Noël, the angel did say...'
Outside, I checked the money and realized that the assistant had refunded me the price of the whole chicken, and not just the amount I had been overcharged. I turned round. No, no, I couldn't face that place again.
At home, I put my plump and cheerful free organic chicken on the carving board, made up a herby stuffing, which I then shoved up the chicken. I finished off with a whole apple stuck in its bottom to stop the stuffing coming out.
I stared at the apple-stuffed end of the chicken, which turned into dark-red mocking lips.
'You won that one, innit?' the mouth said.
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