Oh the shame!
The other day, I popped to the Co Op for milk. Just milk. You know, that essential item, milk. The small children, who could not be left at home with the teenager because she was otherwise distracted, were left safely in the car whilst I whizzed in to buy said milk. I could see the car from the shop – all was well.
Before I got the milk -just milk, I made a terrible faux pas. A faux pas I shall never allow myself to live down.
I had a lottery ticket in my purse. It was a winner! I am delighted to report that the ticket was worth £3.50. Minus the £2 Big Seymour had spent on it in the first place. Good times!
Whilst I am here, I thought, I’ll cash it in. I approached the desk, where a timid-looking cashier was fiddling with something under the counter.
“Hello!” said I.
He came closer. But not within 2 metres.
“I have a lottery ticket to cash in – a winner! Sadly it’s only worth £3.50 but it’s better than a kick up the -”
My cheery, drivelish banter met with a frightened grimace from the cashier. He seemed afraid to speak (I think I intimidate people), but when he did, he muttered something about not scanning lottery tickets at the moment.
“Why not?” said I. I was direct – but not rude. It was a genuine question.
“B-b-b-because of the virus,” he explained.
Now hold on just a minute, people. I know about the virus. Just to make it clear, I have not lived under a rock for the last two months. I KNOW ABOUT THE GODDAMN VIRUS. But I was baffled. Why can we not, with the correct PPE, and with social distancing measures, scan a fricking lottery ticket?
“Why-” I began, “(I mean, I know it’s not down to you, Mr Cashier, but still) Why are we not scanning lottery tickets? How is that different to anything else?” I was a little miffed – a bit despairing. But certainly not rude. My £3.50 could wait, but my mind needed answers. He gave me one.
“It’s not essential,” he mumbled reluctantly, scared in case the crazy lady came at him verbally again.
I was duly humbled by his succinct answer. Of course it is not essential. Gambling never is. Unless you are addicted. In which case, it may be. But I am not. So it’s fine. I didn’t even purchase the damn thing. Those were Big Seymour’s winnings right there – denied him because someone ate a raw bat. But I digress.
“Fair enough,” I conceded to the cashier, and off I went to find the milk.
However, I could not stop thinking about it! That cashier must think I am an absolute plum! Of course the lottery is non-essential. I should not have tried to claim my winnings at this time.
But. But but but…
Tell me this: how many items that we are all buying currently, online and otherwise, are essential? Is chocolate essential? And wine? Some, myself included, would be upset if they were considered so, and duly banned. Are olives essential? Cigarettes? Hair dye? Marmite? Easter eggs? The list is endless. As far as I am aware, we are not yet rationing, and we still live in a free country. Kind of.
I thought of the emails I have been getting recently, from shops trying to encourage me to buy their clothes so that I can dress up to stay in. Essential? I think not. Make up? Not essential. Plants? Not essential. Garden centres are closed, but you can still buy geraniums from pop-up shops and random people on Facebook. It’s all so bloody confusing!
It all comes down to what is essential for us individually, and the government is keen to let us be the judges of that. For some, make up is key to self-confidence. A person may be unable to face the world without it, even if their world consists of a brief wave to a neighbour over a garden fence, or a video call with remote friends. I don’t get it myself, but I appreciate – we are all different. To others, a cigarette may just make the difference between coping with home schooling and seriously not. If an avocado sees you through the bad times, then that, to you, is essential. It’s your crutch.
Thankfully, we are not the victims of harsh, wartime limits just yet. I pray it will not come to that. And therefore, I guess, I thought I could claim my meagre winnings. Instead, I just made myself look like a total bellend in the local Co Op.
And whilst gambling and lotteries may not be vital (-granted), how does that scaredy-cat cashier know that those winnings were not, in fact, representative of all the money I have left in the world, and therefore essential to my ability to buy a white sliced? He does not. So there.
The world is so full of mixed messages these days. Go out, but only if you have to go out. Stay at home, unless you have to go out. Work from home, unless you can’t. Then go to work. But wash your hands. Don’t buy anything unnecessary, but if you decide it’s necessary, that’s fine. Unless it’s banned. Don’t drive to exercise. But you can if you spend less time in your car than you do exercising. Then it’s also fine. Don’t panic, but know that this is the worst crisis to hit the world in peacetime. Buy stuff to keep the economy going, but don’t buy anything frivolous. Stay sane. Protect the NHS. Use the NHS if you need it, but not if you actually don’t.
I don’t know about you, but I spend my time wondering if I am doing all I can, yet at the same time knowing that when I go to a well-known supermarket once a week, (because they openly ask you not to take up precious delivery slots if you don’t desperately need them), people invariably get too close, social distancing is hit-and-miss, and much of my good work goes out of the window.
But the fact remains: I am still the idiot who asked to cash in a £3.50 lottery ticket during an international crisis, and had to have the current situation explained to me by a young, frightened cashier who seemed genuinely baffled by my apparent ignorance.
Yes, the shame.
£1.50 win loaf of bread
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