The queue was huge and it didn’t seem to be going down at all. I knew I should have left five or even ten minutes earlier, I could have done without this.
There were shelf stackers but there was only one person on the tills. That’s the problem with these express supermarkets – you know, the ones that are just about two or three times the size of corner shops. There’s always some old lady with an overflowing basket, and three people behind wanting to pay for four items between them. It’s SO frustrating.
I go along to a film night with friends from church every Monday (‘man night’, as one of the lad’s girlfriends calls it – it’s strictly an evening for the fellas). We always have a bit of pre-movie banter, before we reveal our contenders for the weekly viewing, ahead of the eagerly awaited vote. I hate turning up late for it but it was looking inevitable on this ocassion.
When I’d finally paid for my microwavable popcorn, after much tutting and groaning as I made my way to the front of the queue, I was out of there. I drove nearer 40mph through the sleepy 30mph Northumberland village but I noticed cars up ahead were turning around. There was a police car with lights flashing and a cop standing, arms folded, blocking the road. Closed. Great.
It added another ten minutes onto my journey and they were all 30mph zones; although apparently a two mile stretch was a 22mph section, if the speed of the old chap in front of me was anything to go by. I cheekily attempted to look beyond his ugly lime green Micra, seeking a chance to take him, but it was a curvy road and pedestrian crossings were preventing me from going for it. If I was gonna even make the start of the film let alone the pre-movie cuppa and chat, I’d have to get lucky at the level crossing that I knew was just around the corner.
But no. Another three minute wait, which I’m sure I would have avoided had the old timer in front gone a tad faster or been good enough to pull over and let me get on with my life.
I arrived at my friends feeling infuriated and angry. As I knocked on the door of his first floor flat, shook his hands and climbed the stairs, I was alarmed to find that no-one else had even arrived yet.
I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror as the vein in my temple began to settle. I was wondering how many crosses God would have given me on the old ‘would others know you’re a Christian?’ chart. Deliberately showing my frustration to staff and shoppers in a supermarket queue? Driving like an idiot and breaking the law? Intimidating an old man in his car? Thinking of myself when there had most likely been an accident leading to a road closure?
Patience is a virtue. After God instructed Noah to build the ark, he waited 120 years before he heard from God again, but he treated others fairly, took years of mocking and abuse, loved the Lord and conitnued to obey Him – and he built one heck of a huge boat, during a major drought! I can learn a lot from that guy.