Earlier today, I made the worst possible decision you could make.
I ventured out of my writer’s cave into the community — also known as the local mall — to be among not only the unwashed masses, but lots of them.
All in the name of grabbing some last-minute bits that, in hindsight, I regret doing.
My job was straightforward:
Get red wine, Christmas cards, and one gift card.
Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?
Anything but.
The first stop was securing the gift card, which turned out to be the most arduous task of them all. Typically, you’d go to a designated counter, pluck your gift card from steel pegs, and ask the lady or chap operating the counter to load some coin onto it.
Well, this Christmas, they decided to be awkward.
After waiting around for a few minutes like a goon, I asked a young worker whether someone was manning the counter.
She bluntly said no, and that I needed to queue up at one of the main checkouts.
I remember casting a weary glance over my shoulder and grimacing.
Every checkout had a dozen or more shoppers with trollies filled to the brim with mince pies, turkey, prawns, and copious amounts of liquor.
I sighed and steered a miserable-looking Liam in his pram through the throng of people, eventually queuing up at a checkout.
And queued I did…
For the best part of 30 minutes!
Just behind us was an older lady with short hair and an even shorter fuse than mine. She huffed, and she puffed, casting feral looks at the workers brave enough to pass her.
It was honestly quite disconcerting.
Like me, she didn’t have a trolley or a basket — just a few tomatoes and a lemon.
Sensing she wanted someone to share in her contempt, I twisted my torso around and said, “A joke, isn’t it? Making us queue up for a few measly items.”
“It’s ridiculous,” she replied, gnashing her teeth. “I just want to get home!”
Ah, my kind of lady!
We must have ranted for the best part of five minutes (misery loves company, right?), and I don’t know how we got onto it, but I learned she was 93 years old.
At first, I thought she was pulling my leg.
“What on earth are you drinking? I want some!” I said.
A laugh escaped her, cooling her demeanour but not her shifting eyes. She declared she doesn’t drink, which I might be inclined to believe, given how she stood unassisted and had no visible signs of cognitive decline.
After a pause in conversation, I decided to put the old dove out of her misery.
Raising my hand, I did the unthinkable.
I stepped aside and waved for her to pass me. “Go ahead. I’m in no rush anyway.”
For the first time in our shared misery, her eyes bore a softness not seen until then. Her shoulders relaxed and, dare I say it, she might have even blushed.
Either that or she farted.
“You haven’t taken pity on me, have you?” She smiled.
“No, only admiration.”
(Quite the smooth operator, your daily host, let me tell you.)
She thanked me profusely and shuffled forward to place her items on the conveyor belt while Liam maintained his defiant scowl.
I guess she wasn’t expecting a young man dressed in a black baseball cap, dark skinny jeans, and Adidas trainers (just to complete my antisocial look) to give her such grace.
Or maybe she did, and I simply delivered?
In any case, it felt damn good to do.
Almost as good as it feels to be launching gift cards at my Storehouse for the first time in its two-year history.
Not only do gift cards make gifting ebooks and audiobooks an absolute breeze, but they also make FANTASTIC gifts for Christmas.
Which… *looks at the clock*… is only one day away.
To learn more, go here:
https://djjwatsonstore.com/products/gift-card
DJJW