I began the long trek down the dried fruit aisle.
“Hey! You used to work here, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?” I turned to see a man in his fifties, maybe sixties, possibly with missing teeth and definitely with missing information waving a packet of apricots in the air and gesticulating in my direction.
I can understand why he’d assume this. I’ve worked in a lot of places. I pondered his question for a moment. Had I worked here before? I’d have kept the name tag and worn it for pure amusement, or at least that’s what I considered with my Selfridges badge. With great power, though, comes great responsibility, like knowing the precise location of guacamole. Probably not.
He was looking expectantly at me. He was the type you’d avoid on the bus but sort of feel sorry for all the same. I should point out he was, in fact, a member of staff. Surely he’d know I never actually worked there?
“Yeah! You used to work here!”
This was getting weird. I thought about agreeing and suggesting a trip down memory lane, or in this case the dried fruit aisle, while we reminisced about our time together at Tesco. I’d laugh encouragingly at his stories and maybe make a few up myself. I had a feeling this guy believed anything. “Remember when I threw you that Hovis loaf and it knocked that man off his scooter? Good times!” “How about the day you gave out biscuit samples that were actually for dogs? What a hoot!”
“Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.” There, that should do it.
“No – you used to work here!”
At this point he was so animated I feared for the apricots. I hadn’t worked there but started to wish I did. I bet he was a right talking point in the staff room. Either way, I really needed tinned cherries.
“Sorry, I didn’t. Anyway, got to go!” And with that, I grabbed the cherries and ran.