F3: ‘Non-Perishable’

Not sure how happy I am with this one. Still, semi-true story … and that’s got to count for something.

NON-PERISHABLE

One hundred and seventy pounds worth of organic fruit and veg. Well, not just that. There’s a fair few shrink-wrapped packs of pita in there, too. Some yoghurt, yeah. And a frozen chicken. But, apart from that, it’s definitely all about the fruit and veg.

I do contemplate asking him, but there’s something – something in the way he carries himself, perhaps – that warns me off. The defensive middle-distance gaze of a man who, I don’t know, knows something that we don’t. That I don’t.

Numbers dance in my head. Pre-teen memories of home economics. I mean, a man could probably survive for, say, a fortnight on one hundred and seventy pounds of fruit and veg. Three, four weeks, if managed well. Two people? Week and a half, maybe more, if they’ve got frozen and canned goods at their disposal. Of course, that’s assuming freezers still work. Hmm. Wonder what kind of outfit he’s running.

He flashes a card at the checkout girl. Now the proud owner of his own weight in plant matter, you’d expect him to look … hmm … satisfied, perhaps? Instead, he looks agitated; uneasy. He turns, perhaps looking for someone. I follow his line of sight. It’s about an hour before closing, and there’s hardly anyone here. The remaining customers seem utterly oblivious to anything outside their immediate bubble. A docile herd running on automatic. There’s an older lady behind me, fiddling with her phone. Wonder how much food she’s got in the cupboards. Wonder how long she’d last. The cashier coughs, and – startled – I turn, just in time to catch veg man leaving the shop.

A moment of indecision.

Something deep in the chemical processes of my brain fires. I mutter an apology to nobody in particular, sidestep the queue, and head back into the aisles to stock up on canned goods.

Better safe than sorry, after all.

Right?

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