Stonebridge is the only place I have ever set foot where I can roughly scrape myself out of the over-pillowed pit that is my bed, tie my hair in a misshapen sumo-topknot, spurn my make-up bag (at the same time spitting in the face of that gap-toothed bitch from that advert who’s always trying to convince me to buy Rimmel so she can earn enough money to get a brace… That is why she’s on it, right?), replace the penis-print t-shirt I so often sleep in with a Queen Mary hoodie (no bra), and still stroll sleepily through my front door feeling like some bleary-eyed, dead goth Beyoncé. I think this is down to the fact that, on my most recent aforementioned un-showered, un-sexy and urgent expedition to Stonebridge Tesco, I was party to more human horrors than a person should have to endure, at least until post-(hearty)breakfast.
I had set out on this hasty early morning undertaking as I had awoken to find myself gasping for a cup of tea, and was immediately chilled to my very bones at the realisation that I had run out of soya milk. Black tea simply would not satiate my lust for a decent hot beverage; thus I was left with no other option.
I walked into Stonebridge Tesco under the impression that I had strayed onto the set of The Undateables. Misshapen individuals stalked every aisle; I darted through them, my hoodie betraying my excellent education but at the same time cleverly obscuring my visage. One by one, I saw their dull eyes (no doubt deadened by years of reading The Sun in insufficient council-house lighting) rest on me for a moment, before flickering back, disinterested, to the various Tesco Value items that had first engaged their respective attentions. The hairs rose on the back of my neck as I advanced on the milk aisle and spied two builders, a people that have long been my dreaded foe. Luckily they were deeply engrossed in a conversation that consisted mostly of guttural grunts and something about Barnsley. I deftly grabbed a carton of Alpro’s finest, and went to nimbly sprint down the drinks aisle when I was met with an unexpected hurdle. In fact, hurdle is not the correct word; it would imply that there could possibly be some way of overcoming the monstrosity that fate had seen fit to place in front of me; instead I shall opt for obstruction. The obstruction that lay before me was in the form of a gigantic, plaid-shirted gargantuan, confusedly tottering back and forth between the Tango and the Tizer.
My immediate thought was to slip past him, but upon approaching his livid, pulsating and pinkish mass I was overcome with a stench so overpowering I can only assume this Jabba man had promptly shit himself with indecision. I propelled myself backwards, my lungs aching for a breath of air devoid of poo-particles, untainted by the gallons of methane readily issuing from the bountiful buttocks of this colossal creature. Through the cheese aisle I bounded erratically until I found myself in the queue. I thought myself safe, until I looked up into the unexpected snowy depths of a cranium so richly encrusted with matter that had once been attached to the owner’s scalp; this man, sculpted, it seemed, from pure dandruff, stood between me and my salvation.
I took a sober step backwards, and felt terror and disgust stick in my throat. A thousand years later, the snowman took his leave, and I was called forth by the kind cashier, the first real human I had been in contact with in a seemingly long time. My transaction concluded, I rushed at the door, until the security guard quickly barred my exit. I slowly lifted my head until my eyes met his; ‘Dahlin, choo fuhgot cho sweetcarn’. I looked at the cashier, who was smiling at me in an exasperated way, waving my tin of sweetcorn in the air, which I had apparently left in my haste. I ran back and claimed it.
It was only when I was halfway home that I realized;
I didn’t buy sweetcorn.