The Errand Had Other Plans

March thirty-first. The list had four things on it. I know because I counted them before we left, partly to feel organized and partly because Simone had that look, the one that means she's already calculated the likely elapsed time and has silently adjusted her expectations downward. Four things. In and out.

What happened instead: the self-checkout line had one working scanner. The olive oil situation presented itself as more complicated than anticipated, by which I mean I stood in front of two nearly identical bottles for approximately four minutes trying to identify a meaningful difference, and Simone stood beside me making no comment at all, which was somehow the loudest possible response. I did not photograph that moment. Simone did, I think. She had a look on her face when she put her phone away that I did not fully interrogate.

two containers, infinite deliberation

The part I keep thinking about, though, is the self-checkout screen. We had gotten there. We were almost done. And then it asked us to please wait for an attendant for an item that was unambiguously a can of chickpeas. Simone did not say anything. She just looked at the screen, and then at me, and her expression was the exact face of a woman who has made peace with the particular indignities of a Sunday errand and is choosing to find them funny. I took the photo on instinct. It is a very accurate photograph.

We were out in time to catch the later bus. The laundry, there is always laundry, was waiting when I got home. The four things on the list became nine things in the bag, which I am choosing to call efficiency. The cord is still on the windowsill. Gerald has a new leaf coming in. Everything is as it was, which this week I mean as a compliment.

the exit. finally.