An average Sunday in the supermarket

[Youngbritishbitch]

The baking aisle in Cardiff Asda had the same quiet tension it always did--people comparing flour types like it mattered, the faint rustle of paper bags, the low hum of refrigeration drifting in from frozen.

E turned the corner at exactly the same moment as L.

Their trolleys met.

*Clack.*

They both stopped, hands still on the handles.

There was a brief, perfectly ordinary window--just a second or two--where either of them could have smiled, said "sorry," and moved aside.

E nudged forward instead.

*Clack.*

L raised an eyebrow and pushed back.

*Clack.*

Neither spoke.

They pushed again, harder this time.

*CLACK.*

"Bit unnecessary," L said.

E shrugged. "You're not moving."

"Neither are you."

Another shove. Louder. Sharper.

A woman halfway down the aisle slowly reversed her trolley and disappeared.

Then, without ceremony, L swung.

It wasn't clean--more of a frustrated swipe--but it was enough. E grabbed her wrist, L grabbed E's sleeve, and suddenly they were locked together, stumbling sideways into a shelf of icing sugar. Bags burst softly, dust puffing into the air like a baking-themed smoke bomb.

"Get off!"
"You started it!"

They crashed into the end display, sending cake decorations scattering. E twisted, hooked a foot behind L's ankle, and brought her down hard. Before L could react, E was on top of her, breathing fast, grabbing the nearest thing to hand--

A cake box.

She raised it.

"Wait!" L shouted.

E froze.

"I'm a vegetarian!"

There was a beat.

E frowned, turned the box over, scanning the ingredients. "...gelatine."

She stood, stepped away--carefully over L, who remained flat on her back, oddly cooperative--and walked a few steps down the aisle. Another box. She checked. Nodded.

Back she came.

L lifted her head slightly. "Let's see."

E showed her. L read, gave a small nod. "Yeah. That's fine."

She lay back down.

E raised the box again and brought it down squarely onto L's face.

"Thanks," L muttered, immediately grabbing E's arm and yanking her down as the fight resumed.

They spilled out of baking and into produce, knocking apples loose.

"Two for £2.50," L said suddenly, mid-grapple.

E glanced. "That's decent."

"You need any?"

"Yeah."

They each grabbed a couple of packs, dropped them into their trolleys, then went straight back to trying to shove each other into a stack of oranges.

On they went--through dairy, past chilled meals, into frozen--violence punctuated by shopping.

"Grab those chips."
"Which?"
"Left."
"Fine--but I'm not stopping."
"I wouldn't want you to."

In the party aisle, something shifted.

They both reached for the same pack of balloons, hands colliding.

They paused.

Then, almost in unison, each grabbed a roll of wrapping paper.

There was a moment of mutual recognition.

E gave hers a testing swish through the air.

L mirrored her.

They circled, trolleys abandoned for the moment, the fluorescent lights glinting faintly off glossy cartoon-print paper.

Then--clash.

The rolls bent and rebounded with hollow thwacks as they swung, parried, and lunged with surprising commitment.

"Bit flimsy," L said, blocking a strike.

"Better than you," E replied, jabbing forward.

They dueled their way down the aisle, knocking over party hats and banners, until L overreached and E tapped her sharply on the shoulder.

"Point," E said.

"Not how this works."

They dropped the wrapping paper almost simultaneously and went straight back to shoving, grabbing, and dragging each other toward the next section.

At the fish counter, L suddenly broke away.

"Hang on."

E blinked. "What?"

L approached the man behind the counter, who had been watching the entire situation with the calm of someone who had seen worse.

"Hi," L said, slightly out of breath. "Could you remove the bones from a whole salmon?"

The man nodded without question. "Of course."

E stood a few feet back, hands on hips, waiting.

Moments later, L returned, holding the prepared salmon.

"Ready?" she said.

E barely had time to react before L swung it--*slap*--straight across her face.

There was a brief, stunned silence.

"...you asked him to debone it," E said.

"Courtesy," L replied.

E lunged.

They collided again, knocking into a display of sauces before spilling out toward the front of the store.

At the magazine racks, E suddenly stopped.

"Wait."

L, mid-swing, hesitated. "...what?"

E reached out, grabbed a TV magazine, and flipped it open.

"Next week's *Love Island*," she said.

L leaned in despite herself.

They both stood there, slightly bruised, reading the cover story.

"Casa Amor twist," L said.

"Knew it," E replied.

"Reckon he turns?"

"Definitely."

They nodded, put the magazine back, and immediately resumed fighting--E shoving L into the rack hard enough to rattle it.

Eventually--inevitably--they reached the checkout.

The girl behind the till didn't look up at first. "Next."

E stepped forward, breathing heavily, placing items onto the conveyor belt. Beep. Beep. Beep.

L leaned on her trolley nearby, equally disheveled.

"That'll be £378," the checkout girl said.

E frowned. "What?"

"Includes £350 for your share of the damage."

E glanced around. Aisles in visible disarray. A faint dusting of flour still clinging to her sleeve.

"...seems high."

L snorted. "You flattened baking."

"You knocked over wine."

"That was momentum."

The checkout girl tapped a few buttons. "Alright. £300 for you. £400 for her."

L sighed. "Typical."

E tapped her card. Approved.

She packed her bags, then looked over at L. "What've you got next weekend?"

L rolled her shoulder slightly. "Amy. Tesco."

The checkout girl looked up. "Which one?"

"Amy D. The big one."

A pause.

The girl gave a slow, respectful nod. "That's a tough match."

E winced. "Yeah... good luck."

"What about you?" L asked.

"Sally. Morrison."

The checkout girl smiled faintly. "You'll win easy."

E nodded. "Hope so."

She picked up her bags and walked off toward the exit like nothing had happened.

Behind her, the checkout girl started scanning L's items.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

L adjusted her grip on the trolley, wincing slightly.

"...do you validate parking?" she asked.

"Only if you leave the fish counter intact next time," the girl replied.

L considered that.

"...no promises."

[finglock]

Very interesting and hot! I always like surreal everyday stuff.

[saharrison]

I liked this it amused me -  you are a good writer with an imagination.

[saharrison]