Life on Mars

It’s like nowhere you’ve ever been before. Everyone seems to know each other, and they all stand around in little groups chatting. The locals speak in a strange tongue, with words including ent, kent, shent, wunt, gooing and gonna. The elderly folk greet each other with “Er yoo or-roite me dook?” the literal translation of which is “Are you alright my duck?” This is a local expression which means something like “Hello my friend. How are you?” Strangely, there are no children to be seen anywhere.

It’s the local supermarket on a Saturday morning.

Oddly, the atmosphere is quite relaxed. There is no pushing or shoving; no shouting or screaming. I walk around wondering if I am in a dream. There is an orderly queue at the bakery section of people waiting to have their freshly baked loaves sliced. A slightly younger generation of shoppers quietly sing along with Dionne Warwick as they go about finding their goods of choice. The non offensive atmosphere is almost eerie. Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?

I get to the checkout and I start putting my shopping onto the belt. It’s at this point that I realise that these Saturday morning folk have some bizarre superstitions. Apparently it is incredibly bad luck to allow two peoples shopping to touch.

The woman in front slowly turns her head to look at my shopping. She’s not really looking at my shopping; more the gap in-between her shopping and mine. I look up at her and she quickly looks straight ahead. I continue to unload my basket and I sense that her eyes are turning towards my shopping again. She shuffles uncomfortably and then impatiently looks to see if she will be served soon. The belt moves and the shopping starts to wobble. She is starting to inwardly panic. Did our shopping touch? A divider becomes available and she quickly grabs it. She sighs with relief. So do I; I don’t know what would happen but judging by the reactions of the woman in front it must be something catastrophic. Naturally then, when the gentleman behind me starts to put his shopping on the belt, I do the same. I hold on to my bottles of pop to make sure they don’t roll towards this mans shopping.

I finally make it safely to the checkout. Oh great; it’s the miserable bloke who tries to read my signature upside-down. Now I know this isn’t a dream. I anticipate a more true to life, stressful ending to my shopping trip.
“Would you like any help with your packing?” the old man asks. I only have a few items.
“Er…no. Thank you.” I stammer nervously. I hand him my card and he barely glances at it.
“Enter your pin please” he requests.

I don’t believe it. I got through the whole experience stress free. A smile breaks out across my face as I walk back to the car. I get in the drivers seat and close the door.


Damn. I forgot the potatoes…