The Trolley Dash
Even when I was a little girl, I found it hard to fit in. “Stuck Up Sue” the other kids called me, because I never did head-stands against the school yard wall and my books were backed in expensive wallpaper.
The truth was, I would have loved to be more popular, but I didn’t know how. I wasn’t snobbish, I was just shy, with a mum who happened to save her pennies for nice things for the house – like special wallpaper.
As I grew older, I made friends with one orr two other quiet girls who, like me, avoided the discos and trips to the cinema. We were happier at each other’s houses talking about books. It can’t have surprised anyone that on leaving school I got a job in the library, a sanctuary in a demanding world. I became friendly with Angela, my boss, who recommended American novelists I hadn’t heard of.
“You have a lovely, genteel manner with the readers,” she told me.“i know the days of whispering in libraries are going, Sue, but I’d prefer we stayed calm and at least relatively quiet – I rather cherish us being a place apart.”
“You don’t think I come across as . . . haughty?”
“Just because you speak well? Don’t ever change – that’s my advice.”
We’ve been firm friends for three decades now. I was never bold enough to break away and move to a new town, and I guessed my shyness would only follow me.
But life wasn’t bad. I had my little home exactly the way I wanted it and shared it with Lucy, my cat. I visited my parents every Sunday and each summer I spent two weeks in Greece, staying with my pen-pal, Alessandro. Every December he visited me for one night after doing his Christmas shopping in London.
“Come back with me to Greece for Christmas!” he always urged, and sometimes I thought maybe I would. But I never did.
I also did yoga. No one talked during yoga, so I didn’t feel awkward.
Now summer was approaching, and I would soon be thinking of all things Greek.
First, though, my town was having a community festival.
The planning meetings had been held in the library. There was to be a parade of floats to launch the event, a tea dance, a disco and a Mr and Mrs competition for couples who’d been together for years.
If Alessandro and I had been husband and wife, instead of just pen-pals for 25 years, we would have been celebrating our silver wedding anniversary this summer.
There would be competitions, including a draw for a supermarket voucher. The value of the voucher was top secret but everyone talked about what they’d buy if they won.
“First thing I’d go for is a leg of lamb,” Mum said.“then I’d buy a bunch of fresh mint and make my own sauce.”
“I’d buy a slab of chocolate.” Dad had a sweet tooth.“and a big bunch of flowers for your mother.” Alessandro always put fresh flowers in my bedroom when I stayed.
Angela said she’d fill her freezer so she wouldn’t have to do any “real” cooking for a month. Everyone who came in to change their books was talking about it, but no one asked me what I’d buy.
Did they think I was too prim to gamble on getting a winning ticket? In fact, I did have a ticket. It was tucked in my jewellery box at home alongside Alessandro’s charm bracelet, with its 24 charms, and his letter asking me to come and live with him.
The community festival went brilliantly. Everyone had put a huge effort into their
floats, all on the theme of traditional tales.
The Scouts did Hansel and Gretel, the Brownies and Guides did Little Red Riding Hood, the butcher and his staff dressed up as the Three Little Pigs and the hairdressers presented a lavishly tressed Rapunzel.
The disco in the Scout Hall was popular, and the church sexton and his wife brought the house down with the secrets of their 30-year marriage in the Mr and Mrs competition, winning themselves dinner for two. Tonight it seemed the entire town had gathered outside the supermarket to hear the winner of the big draw revealed. The mayor gave a speech, then dug into a barrel and drew out a ticket stub. He opened it.
“The winner is Suzanne Park!” the mayor announced.“many congratulations, Suzanne! Come on up.”
Me? My hands started to shake.
I felt a nudge behind me. It was a girl I was at school with.
“It’s you!” she shrieked.“go on, Sue! You’ve won!”
She sounded really happy for me. I bumbled through the crowd and reached the podium. The supermarket manager asked me for identification and I produced my driving licence. Then he took the microphone from the mayor, congratulated me and announced there would be no voucher.
No voucher? The crowd groaned and I wondered what I’d done wrong. Did the manager think I’d cheated?
“There will be no voucher,” the manager said,“because we can do better than that. Suzanne’s prize is a three-minute trolley dash – a chance to grab anything she wants off our shelves. Let’s see how she does!”
Oh, no! Just as I couldn’t do head-stands up against the school yard wall 40 years ago, because people might see me fall and would certainly see my underwear, I couldn’t dash round a supermarket now for fear of similar humiliation. What if I skidded, or slipped and fell? What if I crashed the trolley into the shelves and brought groceries down upon my head?
What if everybody was watching, thinking the prize was wasted on Stuck Up Sue, when they could do it so much better?
“Right, Suzanne. Let’s set you up with a trolley.”
“It’s happening now?”
“Of course. Have a think about your strategy while we get as many folk as we can inside the store.”
But I couldn’t think at all.
I wished I hadn’t won. I wished Angela had won the prize. She would make straight for the freezers.
Even Mum would have had a plan.
That’s when I had my idea.
I stood at the entrance while the crowd poured past. I was inundated with good wishes as people passed by. Suddenly the manager was giving me instructions, explaining that I couldn’t put any two identical items in my trolley, and pointing to a huge digital clock. The crowd was counting down excitedly from 10.
“Go!” came the shout and I lurched forward.
Apples. Mrs Smith had said she would buy a big bag of Braeburns. Into the trolley they went.
The little girl who liked books about bears said strawberries were her favourite. I grabbed the biggest punnet.
The meat fridge. Out came Mum’s leg of lamb, a silverside roast for Mr Dixon and an organic chicken for the tall girl who always wore leggings and a beanie.
In the library I had listened to everybody chatting about what they would buy. This was my chance to get something for as many people as possible.
But I had to be quick. I glanced up at the clock. Twenty seconds gone already. The folk were whooping and crying out.
I gave the trolley an almighty shove and skidded along with it. Using my whole arm now, instead of my hand, I scooped down a clatter of herbs and spices for Julie, who was always in the library borrowing cookery books. I grabbed spaghetti and sauce forr the Blake twins, who’d said bolognesse was their favourite, and a massive pizzap for their busy mum, who’d said at leaast that was quick. Thinking of our book grooup, I snatched dozens of packets of biscuits, thent looked at the clock and found I’d used upu my first minute.
Rememmbering Angela, I dashed to the freezer aiisle and pulled out all kinds of fish and frozenf vegetables. I thought of our story-timme session for toddlers and added some millk iced lollies.
I turneed to my audience.
“What else do you need?” “Nappiies!” a man shouted.“the smallest ones!”
I dasheed to the baby aisle and tugged a pack dowwn from the display.
“Put thhem underneath!” a woman advised. “They’ll ttake up too much room!”
“Get cooffee and tea! They’re really expensivve!” someone else called, and I did.
“And soome Earl Grey, for me,” Alessandro’s voice saidd softly in my head.
I hadn’’t forgotten about him.
The lasst minute went in a blur. The trolley was gettiing very full and it was harder and harder too find useful items that would fit.
At one point, flying round a corner, I lost my footinng and fell to the ground.
Peoplee stepped out of the crowd and picked mme up and no one said they weren’t allowed tto.
“Keep going!” came the cries.“don’t stop!”
Wwhen the klaxon sounded I was red nnd panting. The manager met me with the microphone.
“Suzanne, you’ve been an aabsolute star. A good sport – and a canny shhopper.”
The croowd gave a huge cheer.
I took tthe microphone from him.
“I’d likee to say thank you very much for my prize, but I can’t eat and drink all of this on my owwn. So I’m on a mission, tomorrow, to try to mmatch up all these goods with the people wwho wanted them. Any leftovers will be availabble from the library the next day. Now, who needed nappies?”
A younng man waved, and the crowd passed thhe packet over their heads until they reacched him.
The maanager took back the microphone, asked forr one last cheer for Suzanne and I waved aand then did something I should have donne 40 years ago.
I took ooff my cardigan, folded it and set it on the grround against the wall, took a deep breath annd did a head-stand.
After a shocked second of silence and a titter of laaughter, the crowd gave a round of applause. I didn’t get down. I can do a heada stand for long time.
I thougght about what I would say in my next e-maail to Alessandro. I’d tell him I was sending hhim some of his favourite Earl Grey tea,, of course, and I might even tell him howw I’d won it. And I’d say that I was looking fforward to our two weeks in the summer, but that I’d thought it over and no, I couldn’t stay permanently.
I’d miss Mum and Dad and Lucy, but I’d also miss my whole town. It’s my home. I’ve lived heree all my life. I belong here.
The troolley dash had been a revelation. I was no longer that lonely girl – I was capable oof more and, seemingly, had the goodwill of my whole community.
It was time for a fresh start, but perhaps I didn’t have to go to another country to find it.