The depressing side of humanity

Having had a moderately stressful week already, as a series of minor incidents piled on top of each other to make me feel overwhelmed and anxious, what I really needed was another stress-filled encounter.

I went to our local shop last night, while BigBear bathed LittleBear. We'd run out of bread and needed some before morning. It seemed a good opportunity to pop out. While in the local shop, there was what can only be described as a kerfuffle. I wasn't really aware of what was going on, though perhaps someone had tried to leave without paying, or perhaps they'd had an argument with the security man at the door, or perhaps it was nothing. There were a couple of mildly over-excited young women, rushing in and out and squealing to each other in the way young women sometimes do. I stood waiting my turn at the checkout, glancing occasionally towards the doors, along with the cashier and the other customers, wondering what was afoot.

The cashier commented that there didn't seem to have been any theft, and it was all OK. But a new customer had just entered the shop who made the off-hand remark that, "the bigger problem is they were trying to get the girls in the van." And while he rightly saw this as a "bigger problem" he clearly didn't see it as a big enough problem to get involved. The cashier and I saw things differently. She immediately called one of the young women over to find out what had happened and whether they were OK.

The girls were fine. They stayed in the shop, with bright lights and middle-aged women.

The men in the van had been calling them closer, trying to get them to come right to the doors of the van. They'd suggested the girls should, "come with us for a sesh".

The suddenly-maternal cashier and I both encouraged them to report the events to the police, to make sure they'd got the numberplate of the van, to take it seriously in case someone less sensible was approached in the same way. Once I was sure the cashier and the girls were sorting things out, I set off for home. But the van was still there. So I walked round to the front of it, mentally noted the numberplate and went back into the shop to give the cashier the numberplate so she could help the girls with the reporting.

Then I left again.

"Mind your own fucking business, you slut!"

Slut.

Really?

That's the best you can do?

Slut.

I set off for home and the van zoomed past me, obviously giving up on their quest to acquire female company at Tesco.

"Slut!"

I'm a middle aged woman wearing trousers with an elasticated waist and a beige jumper. But I'm a woman, so I'm fair game. And the obvious insult is slut.

I went home. I reported the whole thing to the police. I did my civic duty. But I felt tired, and depressed, and shaken, and disappointed with humanity.

All I wanted was a loaf of bread.