Solitude

A Solitary Routine

A lot of research and thought went in to finding the best supermarket for me to do my weekly shopping.

My local one was a fifteen minute walk from my apartment block, without Loki that walk felt like fifteen hours instead of minutes.

I kept my eyes on the ground, meandering my way across the path when I saw shoes heading towards me, ignoring them like the plague. I kept my earphones plugged in and my calming and relaxing music on full blast so I couldn't hear if anyone spoke to me anyway.

Six years ago, when I was eighteen and first moved in to my apartment, I spent whole Fridays outside the supermarket, doing market research to find out when it was least busy.

My research came back positive and after three weeks of consecutive and extensive research I found out that the slowest time of day at my local supermarket was at precisely 3:12 in the afternoon.

So, for six years, I have been leaving my house at 2:57pm every Friday, to arrive at 3:12pm to do my weekly shop. The rate of customers has stayed steady, and it is still the slowest time of day. The slower it was, the calmer I felt. I didn't feel like I was in the eye wall of the hurricane, instead I was in the eye. I wasn't being abused and beaten down by the agonisingly strong winds that wanted nothing more than to kill me and the pelting and bombarding rain that felt more like heavy boulders were hitting my skin instead of rain drops. I wasn't underneath the dark and tormented cumulonimbus clouds that wreaked havoc. I was in the eye of the storm, under clear skies and a light breeze, in the calm, only surrounded by the havoc.

I grab a small trolley and walk down the aisles, missing them if there is more than two people occupying the space.

If there is one thing I hate more than dog owners, it is shoppers. When they stop near your trolley, they feel the need to speak, to make a comment. I am not proud to admit it but I have ran out of the supermarket when a woman commented on the dog food in my trolley once.

I had most of my shopping now, only needing to go down the biscuit aisle and the dog food aisle.

"Chocolate digestives or Rich tea biscuits? This is the hardest decision of my life." I murmured to myself, holding a pack of each in my hands and looking between them.

I caught the eye of a man walking past me, ignoring the strange look he gave me and stared down at the biscuits again, reading all the information on them to calm my frantic heart.

"Get both Oak. Live a little." I pretty much threw the two packets in my trolley and nearly sprinted down the aisle, meandering and cutting corners to finally reach the dogs aisle.

The aisle was vacant and I sighed in relief, smiling a little. I picked up seven cans of dog food, one for each day until I went shopping again next week, a small bag of dry dog biscuits to mix with his cans and packets of treats for him.

Loki was very particular about what food he ate. If I did not buy the exact brand he loved then he would not eat. Do you know how frustrating it is for your dog to go on a hunger strike because the supermarket had sold out of his favourite food?

Probably not. I did. I nearly turned him in to Spaniel soup.

I found my usual till, avoiding the eyes of the cashier who usually rang me up. I had been coming here for six years, coming to this exact counter and being served by the same man every Friday and I didn't have a clue what his name was.

I'm sure he had a badge on his person, most likely pinned to his branded polo shirt but I never looked up to see it. I avoided eye contact at all costs. I don't even know if I know what he looks like.