You Can't Make an Omelette...

Peter likes large, organic eggs and, even though it was only ten o'clock in the morning, there were just two boxes left on the supermarket shelf. As I reached out to take one of them, I felt a hand push against my arm forcefully. Before I could say something, an elderly man was forcing his way past me and picking up one of the boxes. As he did, his arm caught the other one, and it plummeted to the floor. I watched, despondently, as a dark stain began to slowly grow on the dull grey cardboard carton. It was obvious that some eggs would be broken inside. The man looked at the box on the floor, looked at me, and shrugged, before walking away. No apology. He obviously didn't care.

Normally, I would have let him go on his way and chose another brand of eggs. But for some reason I wasn't going to let it go. Not that day. Because I knew I’d be facing incessant moaning when I got home because the ‘eggs were wrong’ and his omelette ‘wouldn’t taste right’. I picked the box up from the floor and opened it. Three out of the six eggs were completely smashed, and one of the others had a crack in it. With the box in one hand and my basket in the other, I looked around and saw the man turning the corner into the next aisle. Taking a deep breath, I plucked up courage and followed him.

I quickly caught up with the elderly delinquent, who was standing and studying the cereals. As I approached, I began to shake slightly, and a knot tightened in my stomach. I’m not sure whether I was scared or excited, as I glanced into his trolley, where the box of eggs sat nestled comfortably between a pint of milk and a box of tea bags. I pretended to be reading my shopping list while glancing up surreptitiously and checking to see if he’d spotted me. Fortunately, he was standing with his back to me, reading something on a box of cornflakes. Taking a deep breath for courage, I swiftly reached into the trolley. In an instant, I’d swapped his box of eggs for the box in my hand!

Without hesitating, I made my escape – fast walking not running - to the checkout. All the time expecting a shout or a grab on my shoulder as he realised what I had done. But nothing happened. I paid for my shopping and walked as casually as I could out of the supermarket.

My heart was pounding as I stood in the car park. Smiling at first and then laughing. I’m not sure why. I expect it was relief. After all, I’d never done anything like that in my life before…

But now, at least, I'll be able to cook a decent omelette...