So the night started with my guitarist and myself compiling a cassette of our current demos for an old friend, which got us listening to some of our old material and musing over how good the old times were.
Then, at five minutes to 10pm we decided that our bag of Doritos needed accompaniment, in the guise of a tub of dip. Our arrival at the supermarket at one minute to closing was dramatic, as I parked the car diagonally across two mother-and-child car parking spaces and we rushed in. We pleaded with the security guard, who succumbed to my immense charm and duly allowed us through, but some woman was being a bitch.
*”We’re closed!”*
“Just one tub of dip, please!”
*”We’re closed!”*
“We’ll be really quick!”
*”Closed!”*
Fuck you. I’m done being polite. Stop being so selfish. Twenty seconds will make no difference to you, but that tub of dip matters to us. And while we are having this discussion
So we went to the crisps aisle and grabbed the dip anyway, banking on the knowledge that we could just harry one of of the checkout girls. And we did. We put it down on the conveyor insistently. Had the stroppy woman come over and made a fuss, I would have laughed in her face at her ability to waste everyone’s time including her own, but I didn’t get the opportunity.
It was the perfect plan.
So five and a half hours later it was, of course, time to start moving furniture. And to perform the required transition would necessitate the disposal of an old, dying pot plant (pictured in the half-light).
We put the plant in the car and drove two miles south, until we were out of town and the streetlights were but a memory on the back-facing horizon.
And threw the tainted thing over a gate.
And came home and went to bed.