A bit of black comedy/ horror

My Mum exudes extreme prowess in the art of food shopping. She always comes back from the supermarket with bagfuls of reduced food items. She knows the best time of the week to go and where to bag the bargains. She does also buy full priced food, she's not entirely tight, but there is something satisfying about grabbing an item with a red label and a price slash on it.You feel smug, even if you're buying something that you would never dream of buying normally and it's not even that cheap.

I have recently realised I am starting to follow in her footsteps. Since moving out of home, I am cottoning on to the tricks of the trade. When I do my weekly food shop I head straight for the reduced aisle first to check out what's there. And let's not pretend it's not aggressive around there. The little section of shelving is prone to be surrounded, hands grabbing from all directions. And there's always one stern man or woman stood directly in front of it, refusing to shuffle or move up for others.

I wrote the following little story as an ode to the reduced aisle. It is silly, I had fun writing it. I have used women only - not to be sexist, it's just that I was going for a 'Desperate Housewives/ Death Becomes Her' sort of thing.

Supermarket Rage

Karena jammed the wheels up against the back of the woman’s leather boots.

“Oh gosh, sorry, this trolley’s a bit dodgy,” she beamed in mock apology.

The biker chick turned her head and scowled. Her feet remained firmly planted, she didn’t swivel or inch to the left. Stupid bitch. She had a packet of Black Farmer sausages in her hand. Karena scanned the shelves for another. She eased up the sleeves of her mauve cardigan in anticipation. Her lips were painted perfect ochre, and her nails varnished in ‘midnight delight’; the darkest shade of red. She took pride in her appearance, and always made time for a monthly manicure. The other woman was dressed in skinny black jeans and a purple knit jumper. She wore a leather jacket with silver studs on it.

Karena leaned in to where the booted girl was standing. “Shove up Buttercup, I’ve got my rights just as much as the next girl.” Karena raised an eyebrow and curled a lip at her.

Biker chick stared at Karena, sausages still clenched in her left hand. It was a cold, hard stare. Karena recognised the narrowing of her eyes and the unflinching mouth. This look was not exclusive to humans. It was an instinctive glare practiced across the animal kingdom. Karena had seen it employed by a penguin on ‘Planet Earth’ last night. Her home was being threatened by another penguin, who was trying to steal all of the stones she had collected to build her home. Biker chick used it on Karena now. The two of them stood, eyeballing one another in the Sainsbury's reduced goods aisle. The scene had echoes of a John Wayne stand-off.

A moment of silence charged with rage ensued. Who was going to give in first? Karena tightened her grip on the orange trolley handle. The other woman placed the sausages in her basket and held the basket in front of her like a shield. Karena was better equipped and they both knew it. Biker chick took a side step to the left, and broke Karena’s gaze to return to her foraging of the reduced goods. It was a tiny step, but it was a victory for now. The power was back in Karena’s hands. She parked her trolley close to her right hip to block any attackers coming in from the dairy aisle next door.  She turned her full attention to the shelves and started scanning the reduced items.

Why was there always a pie of some sort? It was chicken and mushroom today. It made Karena sad to think that the British no longer stuck to their pie-eating roots. However, she made no attempt to pick up the pie herself – far too fattening. Perhaps that was why nobody else wanted it either. Everyone was on some kind of diet these days.

Oh excellent, an organic lamb joint; £4.55, down from £12– bargain! Karena jabbed a quick left hook out to grab it. Biker bitch was surprisingly fast. She had a reflex or two on her, Karena would give her that much. She laid her hand over the lamb as Karena’s painted talon tapped the plastic of the packaging. By rule of shop, that would bequeath official ownership of the lamb shoulder to biker chick, should she choose to take it. Karena saw a tight smile spread across her lips. She was well aware of the rules. She picked up the lamb and studied it. “Hmmm...”, biker chick seemed to take great pleasure in drumming a pensive finger on her chin as she pondered whether she needed it or not. Of course she didn’t. She hadn’t even considered it until she knew Karena wanted it. She probably didn’t even eat lamb.

“This will taste wonderful with a rosemary and juniper berry jus, don’t you think?” Biker chick widened her eyes at Karena, feigning innocence and waiting for a response.

“Well…I’m not actually a big fan of the juniper berry. I have cooked with it before of course, last season. I’ve grown out of the juniper berry phase. I prefer to cook lamb smothered in garlic and cracked black pepper imported from Cambodia, personally.” Karena turned her nose up and continued surveying the shelves. She was pretty sure she managed to look nonchalant.

Biker bitch plonked the lamb into her basket. Karena seethed with rage. She tried to shake the lost lamb joint from her mind and focus on the task at hand. She picked up a ‘Sloppy Giuseppe’ pizza. It was reduced to £1.50. She placed it in her trolley. She could see it all now; Biker chick crouched on the ground guzzling on the lamb joint, tearing chunks out of it like a savage. Stopping every now and then, she bore her teeth aggressively, juniper juice dripping from her lips like blood.

There was an organic lump of goat’s cheese and a pack of two rump steaks. Karena honed in on them like a sniper, picking out her target. She put them in her trolley. Biker girl was looking at a bag of onion bhajis from the delhi counter. They were breaking even now, Karena thought, surveying the items in her trolley like a proud cat. She pulled a tub of 'Taste the Difference' mushroom soup from the top shelf to inspect it more closely. As she reached for the soup, she revealed the jackpot. There was a large Gü bitter chocolate cheesecake that would be perfect for the dinner party she was hosting tonight. Biker girl gasped at the sight of it.

Both women grabbed for the cheesecake at the same time. This was it; the final round. They pulled at the cheesecake like it was a thick rope in a primary school tug of war. The packaging began to tear on Karena’s side. She groped for the trolley handle at her side with one hand and swivelled it to face biker chick. She used her full force to ram it towards her. Biker chick kicked up her left boot to protect herself from the trolley. She stumbled at the impact but did not let go of the cheesecake. The trolley fell on its side in the middle of the aisle, narrowly escaping an elderly woman with tinted glasses and a floral scarf tied around her head.  The old woman shrieked, dropping her basket full of tinned prunes to the floor. She hobbled off to announce the fight to a security guard.

Biker chick clung to the cheesecake with her left hand and freed her right to grab a turkey leg from the reduced basket next to her. She raised the leg above her head like a baseball bat and swung it with all her might. The turkey leg clubbed Karena around the left temple. Now a turkey leg, if you’ve ever encountered one, is a sturdy weapon. It is about ten times the size of a chicken leg with a thick bone running all the way through it. Biker chick was in for a homerun. Karena’s head snapped at the neck and fell off. It bounced on the shelf trimming and rolled into the reduced basket on the bottom shelf. ‘Ha, just where she belongs’, muttered biker chick, congratulating herself on such a perfect conclusion.

Karena’s body stood motionless in the shopping aisle, her painted talons fell limply to her sides. Blood gushed violently from her neck in spurts of crimson that clashed with her cardigan. The blood pooled at her feet and on patches of the white stone floor. Biker chick took a step back and admired the scene like it was a piece of art. The white shop floor looked like a large scale gourmet plate, sprinkled neatly with juniper berry jus. Biker chick picked up the smashed cheesecake from the floor and placed it in her basket. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and used it to mop up some of the blood that had pooled on the cake and was beginning to curdle. A dusting of icing sugar would sort out the damage, she thought.

Biker chick waltzed off towards the check-out, bending over by Karena’s fallen trolley to retrieve the organic goat’s cheese. She had exciting dinner plans and she better get going with the cooking she thought, consulting her watch.