Blind Woman, You Lack A Certain Grace

There was a woman in Ealing Sainsbury’s Local yesterday. She was pushing her shopping trolley around, and asking, “Is this the bread?”
I laughed. There’s nothing funnier than a woman walking past some Dolmio, squinting suspiciously, and asking “Is this the bread?”
What made it even funnier – to my mind – was the utterly unfriendly way she was barking it at no-one in particular. She didn’t look like she wanted an answer, she seemed perfectly self-contained and willing to walk up and down the two small aisles forever.
Then she changed her tactic. “Excuse me, I can’t see. Can you tell me where the bread is?”
Well, that explained something. She wasn’t insane, just a grumpy blind.
I followed her briefly, hiding behind things and being as stealthy as you have to be, when you’re following blind people. She found the bread, and woofed “Is that the bread?”
The man standing between me and the fierce woman looked awkward, and said “yes, it’s just there”.
“Where?” she demanded, her gracelessness intact. “I can’t see. Is it Kingsmill?”
This was Sunday evening in an understocked Sainsbury’s Local. There was only one loaf of bread left, on the centre of the shelf. It was, to the man’s relief, a Kingsmill, and he told her so.
The woman lunged at it, and squeezed it into her face. The man and myself stared at her – my mouth had opened by one finger – and she threw the loaf down and said “That’s Kingsmill GOLD. I don’t want Kingsmill GOLD. Is there any down there?” She gestured at the area around me.
I walked off. If you’re going to rely on the kindness of strangers, don’t expect people you treat like mere tools to happily tell you whether that is a packet of six bagels or a loaf of Kingsmill. I skipped around the shop, happy with my observations, to find my companion, who – lacking a compulsive interest in watching cuntish behaviour – was actually shopping. I quietly said things like “rude bitch”, hoping that her hearing had been enhanced by the blindness. I am a grown-up.
Here she is, in a blurry picture that is probably what bread looks like to her –

Blind Bitch

The rest of our shop was punctuated by an arrogant but helpless voice. No-one was helping her; she’d only got lucky with the bread man because I was blocking his escape route. When we got to the checkout, she was still walking around the shop with her combination shopping trolley / laptop bag. She had nothing in her basket – and fuck knows how long she had been there before we arrived – and she was shouting to the air in front of her.
“Where is the manager of this shift?”
After ignoring her for as long as possible, and acknowledging the growing sense amongst the customers that someone should say something, one of the staff said “he’s by the spirits and wines”. So she carried on walking around, now shouting “where are the spirits and wines?” This didn’t help her cause at all, as she now just looked like a mad, rude alcoholic.
It was vaguely and shamingly satisfying to see someone getting absolutely nowhere by being rude.
The puddle of goodness in me wanted to feel pity for her. It wanted to look past her attitude, and see the circumstances that had made her who she was. But I couldn’t. It would have taken something special to feel anything human towards this aisle-roaming Dalek of a woman. I wanted her to collapse. I wanted her to shrink into a pitiful, helpless wreck. I wanted to hear her sobbing “it’s difficult… for me… especially since Henry died… I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just how it… comes out…” In short, I wanted her to stop being a cunt and start being human, so that I could stop feeling like it was my civic duty to push her over and run off.
But we’d bought flapjacks, and I was quite hungry, so I left her to it.

7 thoughts on “Blind Woman, You Lack A Certain Grace”

  1. I didn’t know she was a blind. I thought she was just a mad. She was asking the security guard, “Where’s the iceberg lettuce? Where’s the iceberg lettuce? What are those green things over there?”
    Eventually, a kind lady with nice brown hair gave her an iceberg lettuce.
    Then, once in possession of an iceberg lettuce, she started asking the security guard, “How much is this? How much is it?”
    I think she was just making a scene.
    Her coat was fucking horrible too. Very unflattering. They’ve got no idea how to dress, these blind mads.

  2. Oooh. My anonymous companion has exposed himself.
    She did get unusually close to the bread for a seeing lady, though. Perhaps she was sniffing it.
    No, hang on – she was definitely walking around saying I can’t see. Perhaps it was just a big squint.
    She was still a cunt, though. If she wasn’t even blind then I hate her even more.

  3. There is a woman who walks around near where I am staying at the moment in Hammersmith who my friend thinks has Tourettes but I just think she’s a nasty old cow. “Lose some fucking weight fatties” she barked at us. That’s not Tourette’s that’s just old hagness.
    And just say “boyfriend”, will you, for fuck’s sake? Or at least bum chum. Not significant other though. That would be horrible.

  4. Yes, we already made the joke about anonymous companion. Stop outing me as having a boyfriend! I’m supposed to be free and single so that people read my blog think I’m available and do a wank!
    Everybody, Stussybear is available, and he is on a fitness regime, so invest now while he’s hideous, and he’ll be really loyal to you when he’s all muscley. It’s a ground floor deal, can’t say fairer.

  5. Blind people should be FORCED at all times to signal their blindness by displaying one of the established, tried and tested indicators, namely a) black glasses, b) white stick, c) gold dog or d) prodigious piano talent.
    But there is no fucking excuse for buying Kingsmill. She is definitely a mental.

  6. I bloody love it when people with physical disadvantages display anti-social behaviour. No, he’s not a ‘walking talking triumphs for the human spirit in the face of adversity’, he’s just ‘a bit of an arse’. I like sufferers of debilitating and/or fatal diseases to display cowardice. I like people with co-joined foetuses to cheat when being ‘it’ at hide and seek [you can probably imagine how]. and i squeal with pleasure when amputees record television programmes onto videotape then DON’T erase them within three weeks.
    Point being, blind people should not necessarily be applauded per se – some should be administered with a karma re-balancing side-suplex.
    something to think about next time. assuming you are ABLE to think, what with that leper mischievously blaring a fog-horn in your ear as you go around the supermarket, the young rapscallion.

    I saw her again yesterday, in the Ealing branch of Safeway Is Changing To Morrison’s.
    She was saying:
    “EXCUSE ME – DO YOU WORK HERE?” to nobody in particular.
    As I was leaving, I heard here saying, “EXCUSE ME YOUNG MAN, I NEED 12 BANANAS. CAN YOU FIND ME 12 NICE BANANAS?”
    She was probably talking to one of those charity boxes in the shape of a small boy wearing callipers.


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