String bags are the best he finds, he remembers seeing pictures of Russian grandmothers before the walls came down, always carrying a bag just in case they found something worth getting.
String bags fold up small and expand exponentially to fit whatever he finds.
He checks his phone, 7.45, time to get into place, time to get started. Today, as always he has a plan, a programme to follow.
Outside the first supermarket there is already a small queue, he sees a few faces he recognises, nods a hello, these, the other professionals are not the enemy. The other professionals help each other, share inside information, even help carry the heavier items away. It’s the others, the amateurs that cause problems, they don’t follow the rules, don’t accept the rationing, aren’t up to date with today’s government so-called guidelines and worse than that they wander, panic, come to unexpected halts, generally get in his way.
Doors open and he’s in, doesn’t need to consult the list, has already scanned the shelves as he walked past the plate glass windows, has already clocked what’s in, what’s not. He knows not to walk too quickly, not to look too interested, knows not to create any potential feeding frenzy. Interest wakes up the amateurs and some of them are brutal, will happily shove a less than middle sized older man out of the way if they think they are in danger of missing out.
Today’s first list is easy, fresh fruit, all the biscuits, real coffee, dog food and dog treats. He’s in and out in 15 minutes and on to the next shop and there’s always a risk here, what will he have missed with his first choice, but over the last few months he has learnt to trust his instinct, to let go of regret and to get by, always to get by.
After the supermarkets, he has the fiddly special commissions, these take longer, but are the jobs that pay and queueing is what he does now, not empty time, but paid and valued time.
And it’s a good day, the artisan bakers has got hold of some gluten free flour, it’s two small loaves per customer, but these will go for top dollar, his only dilemma who will actually get them. He’s already texting a couple of customers before he’s even left the shop, both loaves sold within seconds of them being shoved into the ever expanding string bags.
Last round of the day is the smaller corner shops, some refuse to serve him, will only sell to their own local customers, but most see him for what he is, a buyer with actual money who will ignore a price hike and who sometimes can share useful information, give them a heads up on the newest forthcoming shortages.
And then deliveries, the fruit is all for one family, still looking as if they are keeping it going, the wife still has plenty of make-up, still finding someone to take care of her roots, still has neat eyebrows, although this is the second time he’s seen her wearing the same pair of jeans and she seems to have abandoned the heels.
The couple with the french bulldogs actually hug him when he hands them a bag of kibble, they are looking a little scrawnier, a little more drawn than when he saw them two weeks ago, he’s not surprised, dog food is holding its value, he wonders what they are managing to feed themselves, makes a mental note that their time as customers is probably running out. He doesn’t offer credit facilities.
The stoner boys, weed sellers, doing well in this new world are delighted to see him, take all the biscuits and chocolate he has, even turn off the XBox to talk, they are keen to get Skittles, Orange Smarties, of course he says he will do what he can.
They offer to pay in cash or kind and after careful consideration, he accepts kind, rolls a single skinner, smokes it slowly as he walks home, already checking his phone, as he thought, washing powder will be available tomorrow. He checks the almost empty bag, it’s all still safe, two tins of dog food and a bag of treats, checks the wad of notes and from somewhere, nowhere finds himself quietly, almost inaudibly singing the only words he knows from the song.
“Money in my pocket
But I just can’t get no love
Money in my pocket
But I just can’t get no love
I’m praying for a girl to be my own”
Phoenix Writers Group
Rubies and Duels 