Diary of a social distancer, 1

“You’ll give me a WHAT?” shouted the man behind the till, making his next-door colleague jump.

Poor chap. An employee of a Sainsbury Local store crapping himself about the coronavirus refused to pack my groceries because someone may have handled the carrier bag previously and licked their fingers to unstick it.

Who wants a squirt?

His eyes bulged behind his spectacle lenses, darting from side to side, looking for The Dreaded Virus in case it was coming for him with a chain saw.

“Tell you what,” I had said, “I’ll do a deal with you. You pack my groceries, and I’ll give you a squirt.”

Hence the shout.

“A squirt of ….” his colleague and a couple of other customers had gathered, open-mouthed, “a squirt of SURGICAL SPIRIT!”

“What’s that?” his voice was shaky, but he was intrigued.

“It’s hand-sanitiser without the girlie stuff. Just plain alcohol.”

By now there were six other people around us and, generous as I am, I gave them all a squirt. (I have another litre of surgical spirit being delivered tomorrow.)

Wash your hands (and use hand-san), stay home and stay safe.

Sz xx

 

 

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