A picture postcard of community atmosphere.

There was tension in the supermarket today, definite tension; as the shoppers shopped and the workers worked a group of children no older than six or seven gathered in front of the automatic doors blowing on their recorders next to the charity can shakers; a picture postcard of community atmosphere on a Sunday afternoon but alas, something was wrong, very, very wrong. With every note blown on the recorders a visible shiver swept through every person in the place.


Teeth ground down into powder, furtive sideways glances were exchanged and the band played on; as one rendition of 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' finished a new one rose out of the fading final note, volume fluctuating momentarily with the opening and closing of the doors. I found the items on my list and made my way to the checkout.


As people laughed their nasty little laughs... 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' was playing


People sighed... to the tune of 'Mary Had A Little Lamb'


People mumbled swear words under their breathe... as they listened to 'Mary Had A Little Lamb'


At the checkout the cashier looked far away, eyes glazed over and set deep in puffy sockets.


CASHIER: You know, they are here every fucking Sunday! I work every Sunday, for ten hours I listen to 'Mary Had A Little Lamb'. Sometimes coming into work I see them and I think about smashing my car into the store and fixing the little shits for good.


It is difficult to know what to say at times like these, a supermarket employee who I didn't really know was confessing her desire to kill children to me. Luckily the store manager came by during this somewhat awkward silence and filled the void, standing there all jangled with a wild look in his twitching eyes.


MANAGER [to cashier]: Our friends are here again, if they don't learn a new song soon you'll be visiting me in prison. I swear to God!


Outside, walking up the hill on the way back to my car I passed a group of supermarket employees on break sitting at a public bench lighting their next cigarette with the butt of their last. No one spoke but as they exhaled their smoke rode high into the air on the back of whistled renditions of 'Mary Had A Little Lamb'.