The World Is Against Me (By Dick G Morris)

My appointment is at nine-thirty. So I have time to do a little shopping. I put on my coat, leave the house, and walk the short way to the shop.

It is a bright, clear morning, and I am certain I am going to enjoy my day.

There in only a handful of people in the shop at this hour, and nobody is at checkout. So, it is going to be easy.

I don't bother with a trolley, or a basket, because this shouldn't take long. I just want a packet of frozen fish for my lunch. I quickly find what I want, and then head for checkout.

Two people stand in front of me and before the till. This shouldn't be long, and I hope it is not: the packet of frozen fish is cold; indeed, it is freezing. It chills my right hand.

An old lady is next. She places her basket on the counter and the assistant begins to take items out. She takes three items out, charges for them, and then inspects the fourth. It is a jar of yellow something, and she cannot decide what to charge for it. She studies the packing carefully, squinting as if she suffers long sight, before finally shaking her head and smiling at the old lady. Finally, the assistant calls out to the back of the shop, for Mike, for assistance, and stares in his direction.

Where is Mike?

My hand gets colder. It begins to get numb.

I switch the packet of frozen fish from my right hand to my left.

Minutes seem to pass.

Finally, Mike comes hurrying from someplace back in the store. He joins his fellow worker and takes the jar of yellow something and examines it in turn. He shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "Charge this lady... " He quotes a price that seems very low.

And now, at last the customer has placed the final item into her shopping bag.

And now she starts looking for her purse.

What? Now?

Didn't she have the thing ready? Ready to pay? She has waited until now to start looking for her purse?

God!

And it seems she can't find it.

You stupid woman.

I look on as the woman fiddles in the depths of her shopping bag. Ah! Now she has found it. She takes out her purse and opens it, as my left hand gets number. The woman finds her credit card. So that's it. Please go, lady. Please go. She puts her credit card away. But no. She's now fiddling with her shopping bag. Tidying the things in it. For God's sake woman! Please go!

Now, at last, she picks up her bag and leaves the shop.

Just one more shopper to go.

And then I notice what he is.

He is a bearded, bespectacled, male. And I begin to worry.

In my experience, glasses mean trouble. And beards mean trouble. And beards and glasses mean quintuple trouble.

And, yes, the male shopper begins to chat with the sales girl, holding up something he wants to purchase. He asks her something.

Her advice, it seems.

She talks to him.

For minutes...

But, it seems, he is not happy with what she has to say.

They chat on as I glance at my watch. I am going to miss the first of only two buses. I switch the packet of fish to my other hand, again.

But now, at last, the male shopper shrugs and pays for his purchases.

And now, thankfully, and at last, I pay for mine.

I leave the shop and hurry home. I let myself in, put my packet of fish in the fridge, and leave, locking the front door, for the bus stop. I have missed the bus I wanted to get, but, no matter, the service is regular: every ten minutes.

And the buses are reliable.

Until today.

I glance at my watch. No bus has come for nearly fourteen minutes.

I stare at the bend in the road in the distance. Just before this, there is a left turn, which, itself, is just in front of a very large building, a church. A car goes past me in the opposite direction. The vehicle signals to turn left, and stops, waiting. Is the vehicle coming the other way the bus I am waiting for? My eyes glued on the bend in the road, I wait and wonder how many times in the past I have watched that bend waiting for a late bus, just as I am waiting now. Then the vehicle the car is waiting for comes into view. It is a truck! And there is nothing immediately behind it because another car is turning left and not stopping for oncoming traffic.

I glance at my watch. I am going to miss my appointment. Thanks to that stupid woman. But now the bus comes. I get aboard it, pay, and take a seat. The driver moves away from the bus stop. Slowly. This bus is late! Get a move on!

At the next stop, a woman with a female companion comes aboard. They take the seat on the other side of the bus opposite mine. And they begin to chat. Both have loud, clear voices. These cut through the noise the bus is making. Indeed, the only thing I can hear is their loud clear voices. They discuss their health, or, to be more precise, their recent operations.

I have no interest in their health or their operations. Yet they continue to discuss these things in their loud, clear voices. And I pick up every word, every detail.

I glance at my watch. Why is this journey taking three times longer than it usually does?

"There were complications with my stitches... "

Shut up woman!

Now, at last, we reach the city.

But now we come to a red light.

And it takes a long time to turn orange.

"I wasn't happy with the care I got in that hospital, either... "

For God's sake, please shut up!

But now we move.

But the earlier bus is in our bay.

The bus driver stops the bus to wait for the earlier service to leave the bay.

"Oh, and I want to tell you about my hyst... "

I stifle a scream.

How many more things are going to go wrong today?

The bus in the bay reverses out in the very greatest slow motion. Then the bus I am in moves forward equally slowly. But now, at last, we reach the bay.

The bus stops.

Thank goodness.

People get up from their seats. I, some way to the rear of the bus, wait until there is a gap in the passengers passing me, and slide out of my seat. But now the passengers in the gangway in front of me stop. For a bent, crippled, white haired lady to get up from her seat. She picks up a walking stick and heads slowly down the gangway. Then she comes to the steps. She turns. To speak to the driver!

The queue of passengers waiting to get off the bus stops as the white-haired lady chats with the driver quite unaware of the people waiting behind her. I overhear a few words of their conversation. She is asking the driver about the times of the buses going back.

Come on, you stupid woman!

Ah, she has got the information she wants.

Now she is trying to get off the bus. But she is having difficulty going down the steps!

For goodness sake!

Why didn't she wait until all of the other passengers had disembarked before she tried to do so? She could then have taken as long as she had wished to talk to the driver and get off the bloody bus.

Finally, she gets off the bus and hobbles away.

Luckily, my destination is just a hundred yards down the sidewalk.

I glance at my watch. I am ten minutes late.

I hurry.

A family comes down the sidewalk towards me. A mother and a father, and two young children running ahead. One, a small boy, runs to one side of the sidewalk and so I move to the other side of the sidewalk to avoid him. But then the boy changes direction and runs directly at me. Or, to be precise, directly at my knees. This has happened to me so many times before. Especially when I am in a hurry. Do I have magnetic knees? That is the only explanation I can offer for what happens now. Magnetic knees. For that is where these small children head for. Always. My knees.

I sidestep the little brat and hurry on my way. I come to the office. I go through the revolving door and head for the secretary. She looks up.

I give her my name. "I have an appointment at nine-thirty," I say.

She consults a sheet of paper on her desk. "Ah, yes," she says. "It's with Mrs Jones-Jones, isn't it?"

"Yes," I say.

"I'm afraid Mrs Jones-Jones is running late this morning," she says. "She should be able to see you in about thirty minutes. Would you take a seat, please?"

Yes, it is a typical day.

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