Evil stilled his shopping trolley next to the cinnamon buns.
“One for the office, one for home, and a snazzy one for when I — what the fuck?”
Beside him in aisle 13 stood a strange angelic man, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
“Excuse me, can I get by?”
Evil nodded and stepped back — but the strange angelic man moved forward, and their trolleys collided with a chink.
The strange angelic man gestured. But was it you go right and I’ll go left or you go left and I’ll go right?
Evil guessed the former: WRONG! The trolleys collided again.
This time, Evil took the initiative. He signalled I’ll go left and you go right, but forgot the strange angelic man was facing him, and their trolleys met for a third time.
From his pocket, Evil took out a notebook and pen. He sketched out the aisle and plotted the positions of both men and both trolleys. Then he drew in lines — EE, this way; strange angelic man, that way — and smiled at the strange angelic man.
Fourth time lucky, thought Evil.
But no.
For some inexplicable reason, the trolleys still collided— over and over, no matter which way Evil barked out the directions.
Finally, they agreed to part. The strange angelic man needed deodorant and Evil needed to find some way of not forfeiting his store card by punching the strange angelic man. Evil shuffled backwards with his trolley, watching the strange angelic man do likewise. When the strange angelic man turned to his left, Evil followed suit: problem solved.
In the next aisle, Evil surveyed the pickled gherkins. “One for the office, one for home...,” he muttered.
“Excuse me,” came a voice. “Can I get by?”
--Whirlochre
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3 comments:
"trolleys"
"trolleys"
What am I reading? I thought. A trolleys is a thing you ride like Blanche Dubois in Streetcar Named Desire when you swoon yourself into the arms of a big strong man. I thought I was looking at a time-travel loop here with trolleys crashing on city streets and then being hauled backward out of their wreck by some fantastical time-altering force.
But then, I remembered Pop (in cans) and gumbands, elastics and rubbers (not condoms) and put out the lights and my hair needs washed.
You don't speak my English!. Trolley! Indeed!
I love how this goes in circles!
Like the writer who keeps querying and not listening to direction - and keeps querying. :-)
Well Spotted.
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