Surreal Shopping
***
Happens ..... often in Luxor, once it happened to me in Liverpool,
well actually I was meant to be window shopping that particular day in
Liverpool.......
***
Having been processed by the Passport Office which is another story
entirely & I shall get to that fiasco later .... I had to kill some time until I could
collect my new passport. It happened during my last minute phase of .. leaving
everything to the last minute.. perhaps I'm still in that phase.
***
It was terribly grey wet morning & a frightful wind blowing and gusting along the city streets
was whipping my hair across my face. My time in the passport offices had not been at all pleasant, such is the nature of our times that they have mutated from cheerful civil servants helping you to achieve your right to a passport into something I fear could be similar to staff working at Guantanamo Bay.
***
Firstly, I'd had the nerve to arrive early, more than 20mins before your allotted time and it's the pavement waiting in the rain and gales. I don't really care, had my photos taken by a photographer on a good hair day, as I'm leaving the country in 2 days I don't care about much.
***
After screening, searching and xrays, am allowed to sit inside. The woman looks fed up, hello I say brightly, she glances up as if I am a lunatic. Papers, she barks. Photos!
Said proper photos are refused, the eye socket orb is obscured .....
A whole new set is of course on sale here, I look about 90 battered by wind, rain and stress. They make me remove my glasses, I no longer look like me and I can't operate the photo machine 'cos I can't see.
***
Possibly the worse photos turn out, I look like a serial killer plugged into the mains.
They're fine, surly woman says, come back at 3.40 and do not be late.
***
Shaken by such self righteous surly unpleasantness now needing a cigarette, I stroll outside and join a group of office girls having an outdoor cigarette. They knew the look on my face, "bin mangled by the passport office?" they said, "here you are luv, ave a fag". They assured me, that a quick stroll around The Albert Dock was the thing to do to pass the waiting time, shops to browse, a museum & a Crepe house for some lunch. Off I went, bracing myself against the wind as it began to roar louder & blow stronger as I got closer to the sea. Maybe I wasn't going to live in France, more likely be blown out to sea. Twice in my life I've been blown off my feet and carried by a wind, it's not something
to write home about.
***
Once inside the partial shelter of the Dock, I feel able to relax & stroll about like a visitor on a day trip, that was probably mistake number one. Shops were laid out in an L shaped walk, somehow it felt slightly drab, the small shops modern in that way they all are when the rents are so high, they open and close every few months. The Beatles souvenirs shop caught my eye, an hour later find I've have been lost in nostalgic memories of my teens. Moving on there's a sweet little accessories shop, it's window arrayed with what seems like everything to go with anything that cost less than a tenner. Feeling chilled, mistake number two occurs.....
entering the little shop I have an odd feeling, am under a lot of stress, emigrating on a shoestring, lost my home in a private muddle called my life. Ignore the feeling.
***
It's a shop absolutely cram packed with items, floor to ceiling, wall to wall fripperies.
Fascinating ranges of hair bits, bags, ribbons, scarfs, earrings. Endless colours, designs, all about throwaway fashion. Get lost for a while in there. It's all quite mesmerising.
My phone receives a text, oh, noticing it's also time for lunch, I decide to leave the shop and head for some Crepes for lunch.
I get that funny feeling again.
I grab the shop door handle and pull, nothing happens.
Oh I think it's a bit stuck, pull again, then push, then push and pull.
More nothing.
"Excuse me"
I call to the back of the shop, from the door I can see the counter.
Silence............
I walk to the counter, its about 12 steps, it is a very small shop!
No one is there.
My brain is now shrieking something that might be,
you're locked in !!!!
but I can't quite grab the moment.
My head is spinning.
I giggle,
to myself it seems.
***
Nah ah, I think, this is not happening, can't be.
Have to be back at the Passport barracks soon, there's only a 20 minute
"window" for your appointment, late and you don't get it.
Can't be late.
I'm flying to Toulouse in two days.
Hungry too.....
Have to drive back on the Motorway in the rain and wind.
Only have 2 hrs left on my parking.
How will I get my car out ....... get home .........
not die of stress!!
Thoughts are pouring,
thundering through my mind
like a torrent of unstoppable rain
panic begins to unfurl like a smouldering dragon.
I realise I feel a fool.
Decide am not a fool.
Have to get out of this shop or I'll never get to emigrate.
Noticing the habitual catastrophic thinking spiral that comes with panic, I slap myself hard enough to engage sense. The next thing I know is, I am appearing a complete fool as I wave to passers by who in turn wave back with uncertainty or ignore me thinking I am a fool.
After what feels like forever but is probably only a couple of minutes, I am tired of foolery and rethink my approach.
***
At the back of the shop I find a pad of paper and a felt pen, I cannot believe am doing this .............. I write in large letters HELP!
What if they get the Police? A particularly unhelpful thought that flashes across my mind as I run to the door, it would take hrs and I'd miss my passport and my car,
oh no wailed my brain.
My blood pressure now surging, heart pounding with acute anxiety,
try to smile as I put the note on the glass doors and wave at total strangers whilst inanely pointing at HELP.
***
Such is the pressure I am under in my life circumstances am in danger of losing the plot & all of my primal alarms are screaming like medical life support machines warning of body system collapse.
Paradoxically, am aware at the same time how ridiculous this is, how insignificant and hilarious it is. I wonder if such humour is a sign of impending madness.
Am past caring because a new sensation is creeping in, claustrophobia, walls closing in, my life wilting and me with it.
A kind woman on her lunch break from a shop further along sees me, she immediately recognises my plight, though when she first ran away I did think maybe it was to ring the Social Services. In moments she is running back, with a girl, running awkwardly, she has her hand over her very shocked face and is sort of half bowed in an "Oh my god !!" mode.
Of course I was so relieved.
I didn't feel anything other than totally thrilled she'd come back, I heard her in the distance, saying "I didn't see you in here so sorry so sorry".
Did I care, no, I felt dreadful. An idiot.
Without so much as a compensatory hair slide, I left.
Had to eat ............. little did I know there was even more fiasco
on the afternoons menu ....
