A little less conversation, please

I’VE come to accept that, if there is such a place, I am going to Hell when I die.

Now, I don’t think I need your prayers. I haven’t bothered to read the Bible, so I couldn’t tell you how bad it potentially is. And isn’t ignorance meant to be bliss?

Anyway, the fact I’m set for a post-life full of dreadful things was hammered home at the supermarket the other night.

As a journo, I spend all day talking to people.

There is so much small talk in every conversation that it becomes pretty tiring come the end of the day.

When I walk out of The Big Blue Building, I don’t really want to talk to anyone.

Not even my wife-to-be gets many words out of me when I finally get home.

So you can imagine how much I love the self-checkouts at supermarkets.

You can grab your handful of items, put it in the bag the way you like and don’t have to say anything to anyone.

It’s the perfect solution for this muted journo. I was one step away from completing my shopping, quickly headed towards to the corner of the shop to get some soap, when I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. She was there promoting a new brand of dog food. We made eye contact and my heart started to sink when I realised I was the next target. “Excuse me, sir,” she said in that happy shop assistant voice that really sounds like fingernails on a blackboard when you’re not in the mood to chat. “Hey,” I replied, kind of friendly, kind of trying to tell her to bugger off. “Do you have a dog?” she replied, and my brain started ticking.

I remember thinking “How on earth do I get myself out of this mess?” I mean, I can’t go through the whole sales pitch. I’d rather be struck by lightning than hear about the nutritional and teeth-whitening powers of this new dry dog food.

“No … sorry,” I said with a pause, before adding “Well, not anymore”, looking like I was about to cry.

“Oh, my, I’m so sorry,” she said as she started to run back to her stall.

“It’s OK, it’s still just a bit raw, you know?” I replied. But I’m not sure if she heard — she was moving faster than Usain Bolt in a 100m Olympic final.

Conversation over. Ryan 1, shop lady 0. Do I feel bad? Yeah, kind of. Ah, who am I kidding? No I don’t. And I’m fine with that.