"An ASDA Story"

Grey. It's all the same. Everyday a carbon copy of the last. I'm paid minimum wage to sit here and wave things in front of me until a bleep, tip them down the slope and ask if they've brought their own bags.
It's relentlessly unrelenting.
A tide of colourless humanity, with their predictable items; the economy tea, a copy of "OK" or "Hello" and their dishevelled clothes, lank hair and the modern look of defeat all over their sallow faces.

I glance out through the plate glass windows, past the trolleys, the coin machine and green and white bags and the herd of shuffling people, snorting and wheezing with the cold and the fashionably glum look about them all.
Still snowing. So beautiful and life-affirming in a way. Beautiful but dangerous.

God, I hope it won't stop Her coming today!
It's Friday. She always comes on Friday. My only respite from the drudgery of the week.

Sometimes I hear Her first. I tingle all over, starting with the back of my neck. Breathing gets deeper, yet quicker and my hands begin to sweat.
That 'Tik-Tak' sound of Her heels, reminiscent of something in my head...like a regal clicking of Her fingers when requiring attention; impossible to ignore.
I follow the sound of Her shoes as She rounds the corner, past the stack of shopping baskets and into the store, not 20 feet away from me.
I am captivated. Can't look away from Her. In all my years, I have never known a woman who could completely dominate my every thought just by 'being'.

She must come. She has to.
I hand a woman her receipt and points card and mumble the required pleasantry as the next glum individual shuffles forward.
Then, all is forgotten.
Store etiquette abondoned as I hear Her. It's Her!
Unmistakably my Friday morning shot of neat sunshine.
Moving this way, purposefully yet unhurried. 'Click-click-click-click'- I recognise Her pace - precise, almost hypnotically metronomic and once again, I feel myself slipping into a waking trance.

How does She do that? Why do I respond in such a way?
Then, She comes into my line of view. Heart melts, the hairs on my arms feel electrically charged and my breathing is too fast.
A flash of green eyes, faint hint of a smile...and She is lost. Basket over Her arm, long black leather coat which draws eyes and lingering looks rather than reflecting them and amplifies and enhances the blonde of Her hair. The flash of silver on Her fabulous stiletto heels. What a woman!

I spend interminable time looking for Her, listening, not concentrating and fumbling ridiculously with people's money and debit cards.
Sometimes She comes to my checkout. I am crushed when She does not. She knows Her power.
No words are spoken. Just a slight smile and look of knowing on Her pretty features. Moves like a cat; sublimely elegant yet there is a real strength here with something else underlying; an energy, like a live-wire seldom seen or felt around here.

I catch an occassional flash of the deepest green eyes that will haunt my dreams tonight, with a longing I don't understand. Yes, She is fabulous, but there is something more. Deeper, inexorable.
And I can see, reflected in the cold steel of the neighbouring checkout those beautiful shoes and just a glimpse of seamed stocking hugging a smooth calf and shapely ankle.
Her scent, I draw as deeply into my lungs as I can, as I almost sob at Her closeness. "Obsession"; truly apt if not ironic in this situation.

Then, She is gone. A soft polite "Thank you", a last brief flash of green eyes and I am left alone here, as so much flotsam in a sea of mediocrity and apathy.
Who is She? This sublime Lady, so close yet so out of reach.
This Lady who, like the snow is both beautiful and tantalisingly dangerous; life-affirming, yet filling me with such feelings of loss every time She goes.
My Lady awakens the realisation of the beauty of each and every second; the perfection of the universe in every moment. The movement of eternity, contained in the sound of those clicking heels.
My ray of sunshine. My brush with glamour. My spark of potential happiness. My reason for Friday's.

micamino )0(;-/ xxxx