Firstly, I think I’ve already had a Mr Tesco. A vague memory of a customer with mental health issues a few years ago. So this is my 2013 experience tonight.
Secondly, I want to make sure that you lot know that I do not seek these misadventures. Tonight I was dressed like shit on my way back from French Class listening to N.E.R.D’s – the days before Pharrell just lifted recognisable tunes – Lap dance. I decide that I can’t do an M&S shop because, I tend to over shop and it’s still only day 2 of the detox. So Tescos is the safer option. I can’t go crazy in Tescos.
I need tomato sauce to go with my sausages. I’m in the aisle considering how much change I have and whether or not to go BBQ (crazy I know) instead of Heinz class tom k when I see someone out of the corner of my eye. He’s a plump sort of fellow and he’s in the uniform with an official looking scanning devise so I know he should be here. He asked me how I’m doing? I answer that I’m fine thanks and get back to pro-ing and conning the tom K vs BBQ debate.
In the end the decision was made for me as the BBQ purchase got rid of more change in my purse. Win. I race the other customers to the till, get served in record time and I head off home.
I get a block and a half down the road, singing along to Crazy by Eternal (I am the missing 5th member) and I hear someone hollering. I assume the international sign for “don’t fuck with me. I know karate” and turn around. Who do I see? Mr Tesco stumbling towards me like he’s just run a marathon.
Mr Tesco (panting): I can’t believe I ran around for ages looking for you.
Me: silent…… What are you doing?
Mr Tesco: I just wanted to say hi. I’m Mr Tesco. What’s your name?
Now this is the point where he should know I am lying. How many black women do you know called Mimi or Fifi. Nonsense toad.
Me: Shouldn’t you be at work?
Mr Tesco: Yeah, that’s my delivery arriving now.
He points at a Tesco truck that is decidedly closer to Tescos than he is. He is still holding the scanner and now also his phone.
Me: Look I’ve got to go.
Mr Tesco: Wait! (lunges forward, I step back) Do you live around here?
Me: Yeah and I go to that Tesco a lot so I’m sure I’ll see you around Mr Tesco.
Mr Tesco: Well the thing is I’m about to take my annual leave and I’ll be on leave for two weeks and ….
Mr Tesco: Wait! (does that lunge thing again) Before you go let me get your number (starts fiddling with his phone.
Mr Tesco (looking confused) Why not?
Me: Because this is strange. I don’t know you!
Mr Tesco: But I want to talk to you. (how is he still panting?)
And that’s the point where I have an aha! moment. Why am I standing here giving this fool my time? I’m hungry, I’ve got sausages to cook and, I don’t think approaching women on the street is ever, ever an appropriate way of getting anything.
I wanted to ask him why me? Why do idiots like him harass me and think that I should be grateful for the attention? Is there something about my demeanour that says that I’m open to a clumsy approach in the middle of the Kings Road at 9.15 at night? Am I giving out desperate signals that I don’t know about? Is my energy fucked up? Do I need a cleansing?
But no, I just walk away and calculate that to get to the other Tescos will add 5 minutes to my walk home next week…..I should have gone to M&S. Turns out you can go crazy in Tescos.
© Chelsea Black