TUESDAY

by Louris van de Geer

© 2011 Louris van de Geer

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CHARACTERS

THE MAN, mid twenties, athletic looking

THE SUPERMARKET MANAGER, somewhere in his thirties

THE WOMAN, late forties

THE SCHOOLGIRL, seventeen

TUESDAY
1
THE MAN: When I wake up there’s something on my face.
I wonder if I’m still dreaming.
I hope I’m still dreaming because I’ve got no fucking clue what this shit
on my face is.
I’m not dreaming.
There’s these flecks of dry paint on my face.
I turn the light on.
I look at the ceiling.
There’s a gap in the paint.
It’s blue underneath. I hate blue.

I stare at the ceiling for a while. I try to imagine that the blue patch is
sky and that it’s a really nice day. It makes me calm for about half a
second.

I can hear my housemate fucking some girl in the next room. They’ll be
in there for hours. I don’t know where he finds them.

I go to the bathroom. I piss with the door open. I’ve only been caught
once.

I look for my shirt with the nice buttons. I can’t find it. I pick the one
with the stripes. The buttons on this shirt aren’t as good.
I stand in the middle of my floor and I look at the blue patch on the
ceiling again. This time I think about the sea. It’s not the right kind of
blue to be the sea.
I button my shirt. For some reason I start buttoning from the bottom
instead of the top. I feel like I’ve been buttoning this shirt for an eternity.
With each button I do up I imagine someone dying. People die that
often, don’t they? Maybe even more.
By the time I reach the last button I need to sit down.

I find seven socks that look like mine and not one of them matches
another.
This always fucking happens.
This is something I have noticed.
No matter how many pairs of fucking socks you buy they just keep
going missing.
I put my bare feet in my shoes.
I need to cut my toenails.
Sometimes I think I spend my whole fucking life cutting my toenails.

I remember that it’s Tuesday. Tuesday’s are always a bitch.

I remember who I am and where I live and that yesterday I started my
day in the exact same way and I probably will again tomorrow. Only
now there’s a giant blue patch on my ceiling.

THE WOMAN: I’m standing at the back door with an apron on and I’m calling out his
name.
He’s not responding.
He never responds.

He’s in the shed.

He’ll be sorting his screws into jars again.
How there can be so many screws. So many different types of screws.
And how he needs so many of each type. That is something I will never
understand.

TUESDAY
2
 I call his name again.
Steven.
I call it once more and my voice makes this strange trembling sound.
He’s made my voice tremble.

He’s in his shed with his screws and I’m in an apron on the back step
and my voice is trembling.

He pokes his head out the door.

He looks confused and he does that thing where he takes his glasses
off and then looks up like he’s seeing you for the first time.
When he does that I want to kiss him.

I ask him would you like some bolognaise?

He mumbles something about later.
He always mumbles something about later.
He says he has to finish this first.
I have no idea what he is doing in there.
I never have any idea what he is doing in there.

The microwave beeps.

I take the bolognaise out.
I put it on the table.
I get a fork out of the drawer and I put it next to the bowl.
I get a glass of water off the shelf and I fill it with water.

On a piece of notepaper decorated with kittens I write “for later” in blue

ink.
I put the note on the table next to the bowl of pasta.

He won’t bother to heat it up himself.

He never bothers to heat it up himself.

I am feeling brave today. I do not drive often.

When I drive I can’t help but imagine hitting people with my car.
I imagine hitting them and then not being able to find the brake. So I
keep driving. Right over the top of them. The car goes up over their
body and then down again.
I bounce in my seat.
Up, down, up, down.
Sometimes I don’t stop. I don’t stop driving. I just leave them there. On
the road.
There are other times when I get out of my car and I stare. I just stare
at them like someone who has forgotten what words are. Who has
forgotten how to swear.

I wonder if he has found the bolognaise yet.

THE MANAGER: I park my car in my usual spot. The spot reserved just for me.
I get out of the car and I stand next to it for two whole minutes
searching my pockets for my keys before I realise I’ve left them in the
ignition again.
This is the third time this week that I have done this.

When I turn on my computer the first thing I see is a picture of my wife.

Her smile is pixilated.

TUESDAY
3
 I tell myself to breathe in and breathe out.

I take the shopping list out of my pocket.

She’s given me a shopping list.
She says I always get the wrong things.
She’s written this incredibly detailed list.
She gave me the empty jar of peanut butter so I could match it up to
the one on the shelf.
I know what kind of peanut butter to buy.

If she let me buy paper plates we wouldn’t have to argue about the
dishes. She says she’ll do them tomorrow. And when tomorrow comes
and I get home they’re still there and she’s still in the same spot I left
her in that morning. And so I do them and then we have the same
argument and she says I’m not being fair and that its hard and then
she pushes her chair out from under the table and it makes that
scraping noise and Charlotte starts crying. And then she gets up and
she walks upstairs and I hear the door slam and I know she is lying on
our bed filling up with hate.

And I get Charlotte out of her little high chair and I hold her in my arms.
And she’s so small. And I can feel her little ribs going in and going out.
And sometimes when it’s like this. When she’s in my arms being so
small, I want to bounce her up and down but I think I wouldn’t know
when to stop.

She makes a gurgling sound. This is the best sound that she makes. I
put her to bed. I check that the baby monitor is working, twice, and I
leave the room quietly.

I go back to the kitchen and I stare at the dishes. I pour myself two
drinks and I prepare myself to go upstairs.

The lights are off.

For a moment. When I open the door. For a moment I think she is
dead. And when I’m thinking that. This tiny feeling of calm creeps in.
And it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. And suddenly I’m running my
hand very slowly up and down her back. She has this magnificent
back. Its got this curve that I think the whole world could sit inside of.
And I’m saying I’m sorry. And I’m saying that she doesn’t have to do
the dishes. I’m saying that in the grand scheme of the universe it
doesn’t matter that the dishes aren’t done. And this makes her laugh.
And her back jiggles up and down with her laughter. And I want to
squeeze her. I want to squeeze her so tight.

When I am inside her she feels like a complete stranger to me. This is
not the first time this has happened.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: Instead of Maths we have a special assembly about not wearing our
hair to the side. They say it’s important for our ponytails to be tied in
the middle of our head.

I leave school through the back gate. We’re not supposed to use this
gate. I’m going to get in a lot of trouble for leaving school. I’m already
in trouble.

TUESDAY
4
 Because it’s a Tuesday I open the gate of number twenty-seven and I
walk around the back. They’ve got a dog there. I’ve taught it not to
bark.

I watched this YouTube video about how to pick locks with bobby pins.
I’m really good at it now.

In the kitchen I open every drawer and every cupboard and then I take
a step back. The cupboards are full of expensive looking things.
There’s tea from England, Paris, Russia and Japan.

I boil the kettle.

I read the labels on the packets of tea.
Today I will have the Russian one.

While the kettle is boiling I fill a bowl with every type of cereal from the
pantry.

I sit on the kitchen bench and I eat my cereal and I drink my tea and
while I am doing this I get this feeling of absolute stillness. Sometimes I
think this is my favourite feeling in the whole world.

My phone starts vibrating. I have seventeen missed calls. They’re all

from my mother. This morning my mother left without saying goodbye.
She always leaves without saying goodbye. She left me a note.
Usually her notes contain information about the ripeness of bananas or
positive affirmations to help me face the day.
But today’s note is different.
It says “school phoned - ring me.”

I walk down the street and around the corner to the house that has lots
of bookshelves. They’ve got the complete works of Shakespeare.
Shakespeare is my favourite.
I wish real life was more like Shakespeare.

When I’m about to go in the gate, someone opens the front door and I
make that movement with my hand that suggests I just remembered I
was walking the wrong way. You know. This one.

She demonstrates the hand movement.

THE MAN: On my way to the supermarket I get stopped at every red light.
Overnight I think they’ve installed at least three new ones that I’ve never
noticed before.
There’s nothing on the radio.

My indicator’s making that tick tick noise.

I try and make the exact same noise with my voice box but I can’t.
That’s something I should be able to do.
I’m staring at the green man and I’m waiting for this old guy to pick his
fucking feet up and get to the other side of the road. Some people are
walking straight to their grave, I swear. When he finally gets out of my
way I go to turn and this dickhead who’s being a dickhead just turns
right in front of me from the other side of the road.

If I was anyone else I would’ve driven my car right into the back of his.
If I was anyone else I would’ve driven him right off the road.

TUESDAY
5
 And when he got out of the car to look at the damage I would’ve told
him exactly what I thought of him.
In the meanest possible language with the crudest possible words at
the absolute highest volume I could manage.
And then I would’ve spat in his face.

There’s blood on the steering wheel. I realise I’ve been chewing the
fuck out of my fingers and some of the skin’s come off.

He cracks his knuckles.

I get the feeling today is going to be one of those days when

everyone’s behaving like the worst possible version of a cunt.

There’s a truck in my way. It’s one of those big supermarket trucks that
have a habit of reversing really slowly. If I was driving that truck, I’d
have it parked in no time. And I’d do it with one hand on the steering
wheel.

I park my car in the car park. I don’t buy a ticket.

THE WOMAN: In the supermarket car park I pull into a parking space and there is a
woman in the car in front of me. She is about to leave. If she leaves I
can drive all the way through and then my car will be facing the right
way and I won’t have to reverse.
I hate reversing.
I avoid reversing wherever possible.
I avoid turning right and doing u-turns wherever possible.
We’re having a competition now. Me and this woman. She doesn’t
want to give me her spot. She wants me to have to reverse. I pretend I
am looking for something in my handbag. She pretends to be fiddling
with the radio.
Eventually she gives up and she reverses.
It takes her three times of going back and forth to get her car pointing
in the right direction.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: Because I can’t read any Shakespeare today I decide to go to the
supermarket. I love supermarkets.

My phone starts vibrating again. I lift up the lid of someone’s rubbish

bin and I put my phone inside. I can hear it vibrating as I walk away.

My shoes are making this excellent sound on the concrete.

I walk around the supermarket car park and I stare at the traffic lights.

Have you ever noticed that the traffic lights don’t change straight from
red to green?

There’s this tiny second after one set has changed from orange to red
before the other set changes from red to green.

This is my favourite thing about traffic lights.

For a moment everything is still.

THE MAN: The Fastmart sign is still fucked. It’s been like that forever. It’s missing
a letter. It says Fatmart. I think someone should hurry the fuck up and

TUESDAY
6
 fix it. If I had a ladder I’d fix it myself.

Some idiot with a clipboard stops me as I try and get in the door.
I push past him and I put my headphones in.
I don’t put any music on.

THE MANAGER: I redesign the Employee of the Month certificate. I give it an important
looking border and I change the font.
I fill out the stationary order form that I was supposed to fill out last
week. We have run out of tissue boxes, printer cartridges, pens and
promotional Fastmart price tags.

I read through endless Customer Suggestion Forms.

We take all your suggestions very seriously.
We thank you for your feedback.
Someone has suggested getting a man with a piano.
Someone thinks we should provide more places for people to sit.

THE WOMAN: I look for a trolley with the newest looking handle. I find one. When I get
inside the supermarket I realise the trolley has one wheel that keeps
pulling to the left. It’s impossible to steer. I abandon it and take another
one. The handle is faded.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: One of my favourite things about this supermarket is the sign above the
door. It’s missing a letter.

There’s a man doing one of those surveys.

He’s got a clipboard.
I tell him he should ask me his questions.
I make sure to give him the complete opposite answer to what I
actually think.

THE MANAGER: Someone asks why there aren’t any anti-bacterial trolley wipes.
On one form it says we should employ more attractive looking staff.
They didn’t use language as nice as that.
I put them all through the shredder.

THE MAN: The handle on my basket’s broken.

It reminds me of the hole in the ozone layer.
They’re both fucked.

I put the basket down and I get another one.

Someone’s left their used tissue in the bottom of it.

THE MANAGER: I start writing my report. I’ve been asked by Head Office to write a
report. We’ve started this new promotion. Tuesday Specials. Every
Tuesday we significantly cut the prices of some of our most popular
items. Cereal, bread, milk. We got these special price tags printed.  

THE WOMAN: I get this wave of sickness inside me when I notice the bright lights.
And the sound. That incessant deathly sound of cash registers and
barcode scanners and children crying and shelves being stacked and
too many voices and too many feet in a too small space.

I have a headache already.

THE MANAGER: I keep typing ‘and’ instead of ‘an’.

TUESDAY
7
 I keep typing ‘one’ instead of ‘on’.

My hand goes to sleep.

It’s completely dead.
I pick my dead fingers up with my other hand and I wiggle them about.
They are like something completely not attached to my body.
I stare at them and I remember the butcher who put his hand in the
machine that minces the meat. I was the one who collected the bits of
finger off the floor. I put his thumb in a Snap Lock Bag.
As the manager of the supermarket you have to do these things.

THE WOMAN: There are husbands and boyfriends looking despairingly at lists. Some
of them are on phones. I've left my list at home. I'm going to forget
something essential.

In my head I go through the fridge and the cupboards and I try and
remember what I need. I remember that I need cinnamon. I go to the
section with the spices and I take the last packet of cinnamon off the
shelf. Imagine if there’d been no cinnamon left.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: There’s a television screen above one of the aisles. It’s playing the
surveillance footage. It keeps switching between all the different
security cameras in all the different sections of the supermarket.
I watch a lady put a cabbage in her trolley.
I watch a man staring at a loaf of bread.
I look around for the camera closest to me so I can wave at it.
Today I will find every camera.
Today I will wave at them all.
I bet no one even watches them. They’re just there to scare people.

THE MAN: Inside the supermarket I go straight to where the spices are. There’s
lots of them. In alphabetical order. The first thing I notice is that there’s
a gap. One gap. Before I’ve even read the price tag I know that’s
where the cinnamon is on every other day except today.

This life just keeps throwing shit at you.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: In the magazine aisle I open all the sealed sections in Cosmopolitan.
There’s a picture of a boy. He looks like that boy from school. Simon.

Since yesterday every time I’ve seen Simon he’s had some part of his
body touching another part of this girl’s body - her name is Stacey. She
doesn’t deserve him.

Sometimes Stacey does this thing where she wraps her arms around
Simon’s arm and squeezes it. I don’t know why people do that.
Squeeze each other.

THE MANAGER: I go into the lunchroom to make myself some coffee.

I stare up at the CCTV screens. We spent a lot of money on
surveillance equipment and now there are cameras everywhere.
It’s part of our plan. We have a new plan for implementing new
procedures to ensure the safety of the public.
Most of the cameras are pointed at the staff.

“Surveillance cameras in use. You may be recorded within or around

this building.”

TUESDAY
8
 At the Customer Service Desk one of the staff members is leaning
against the bench.
I ring the desk and I tell her to stand on two feet.
I tell her at Fast Mart we stand on two feet and we are ready to serve.
I hang up the phone.

There’s a girl in a school dress waving at the cameras.

She appears in five different shots.
What is she doing here? Why isn’t she in school?

I try to pick up my coffee but I can’t find my hand. I physically can’t

locate it on my body.

He wiggles his fingers.

THE WOMAN: I look for the jars of peaches.

Steven, my husband. He says please could I buy some more of those
peaches that come in those jars.
One thing about my husband that I have known for a long time is that
he doesn’t even like peaches.
He never used to eat peaches.
Not until they started putting them in jars.
I know what he’s doing. He’s putting his screws in them.
I go into the kitchen and the sink is full of peach jars. Soaking.
He’s soaking the labels off.
The little bits of paper get on everything.
I take two jars of peaches off the shelf.
They are the wrong ones.
They have an ugly lid.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I find an empty aisle. The empty aisles are my favourite.
I stand in the middle of it and I close my eyes and I put my hands out
to the side. In my head I imagine that the shelves on either side of me
are moving. Getting further and further away. It’s the nicest feeling in
the whole world.

THE MAN: Every single time I go to an aisle expecting to find a particular thing
there’s something completely different in its place.
Just when you get it in your head where everything is some idiot goes
and moves it all around again.
That really gets me.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I take a Kit Kat off the shelf and I eat it right there in the supermarket. I
eat it all and I don’t care who is watching me.

You.
You are the best Kit Kat I have ever tasted.

THE MANAGER: My phone is ringing.

Before I even pick up I know it’s my wife.
I hold the phone in my hand and I listen to her breathing. We do this
most days. She rings and says nothing. As a reminder of how
meaningless words are.

THE MAN: The music in here is the kind of music I can imagine myself slitting my
wrists to.

TUESDAY
9
 They should ask people for suggestions. Of music they want to listen to
in the supermarket. That should be a choice we’re allowed to make.
I reckon people will get really into it.
I reckon people will be saying things like “I heard this great song in the
supermarket the other day”.
I reckon there’ll be different kinds of music for supermarkets in different
areas. You’ll be able to make important observations about the people
in a particular place because of the music they play at the local
supermarket.

I find the customer suggestion forms.

I take two. An extra one in case I think of something else.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I get this feeling inside me sometimes.

Like I’m made of electricity.
It’s my favourite feeling that I get.
And I just have to jump up and down on the spot.
Other times it makes me feel like kissing people.
Like if I could kiss everyone in the supermarket. Right now. Right this
second. Stick my tongue down their throats.
Or if I could take my clothes off.
And dance.
And take all the cans off the shelves and roll them down the aisles and
trip people up and then fill the shelves with blankets.
Like bunk beds.
I love bunk beds.
 
THE MANAGER: I go out to buy cigarettes. I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore. Instead of
buying them at work I go to the Milk Bar around the corner.

I smoke four in a row and then I go back to my office.

 
THE WOMAN: A woman in a white hat and an apron tries to get me to try her
shortbread. She’s holding the tray out in front of her. She’s breathing
on it. I say no thank you.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I take a bottle of Coke off the shelf and I shake it up so it explodes
when someone opens it. I do it again.

I do this at school sometimes. In the tuck-shop. No one notices. You

can do all kinds of things in the school tuck-shop without people
noticing.
I’ve only been caught once in my whole entire life.
Yesterday.
Everyone has to get caught once.

THE MAN: There’s a girl in a school dress. She’s taking all the bottles of Coke off
the shelf and shaking them up and then putting them back again.
I stand at the end of the aisle and I watch her and I watch the Coke
fizzing up inside the bottle.
If I was anyone else I would’ve gone right up to her and joined in.
If I was anyone else I would’ve opened all the bottles one by one and
watched the Coke spray out everywhere.
I keep walking.

THE MANAGER: I open Internet Explorer. I type “numbness in arm plus stroke” into
Google. There are two million two hundred and seventy thousand

TUESDAY
10
 results.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I want to kick someone in the shins. There’s something fantastic about
kicking another human being in the shins.

THE MAN: A kid in a Fastmart cap is carrying too many boxes.

He drops them and they fall open.
They seem to fall slower than usual.
There are boxes of biscuits all over the floor.
I want to laugh at all the people who’ll buy them.
When they get them home they’ll find that all of them are broken.
I hope they’ve got people over when that happens.
This kid’s freaking out. Scurrying around on his hands and knees.
He’s right the fuck in my way but he doesn’t notice.
I turn around and I walk back the way I came from.
I hate going backwards.
If I was anyone else I would’ve stepped on his hand.

THE MANAGER: I take my clipboard and I go downstairs to check that everyone is doing
the right thing, and to count the Tuesday Special signs so I can finish
my report.

“Tuesday Special price tags must be printed on regulation Fastmart

price tag paper and must be displayed below the relevant item at all
times.”

THE WOMAN: I am in the biscuit aisle. I am searching for my favourite biscuit. I

haven’t found one yet. There are too many options.

There are boxes of biscuits all over the floor. They are Milk Arrowroots.
I was going to try Milk Arrowroots today. They’ll be broken now.

THE MANAGER: One of the employees has dropped a whole lot of boxes of biscuits on
the floor. They’re all broken. I ask him if he’s had the appropriate
Manual Handling training. Obviously he hasn’t. I tell him he can’t just
put the biscuits back on the shelf because they’re damaged. We don’t
sell damaged goods at Fastmart. We pride ourselves on exceptional
quality and service.

THE MAN: A lady behind one of those pop-up booths at the end of the aisle looks
at the biscuits and then rolls her eyes. I smile at her a little bit and then
she smiles back. She’s got this smile that reminds me of my mother. I
take my headphones out.
She’s cooking something in a frying pan.
I ask her what it is and she tells me it is lamb coated in a new marinade
that is available for purchase from aisle seven. She tells me there are
two other types of marinade as well but that this particular marinade is
her favourite and that she would like me to try it.
She gives it to me in a little cup. These little cups are great. You could
make a whole meal out of supermarket tastings.
She asks me if I like it and I tell her yes and that I can taste cinnamon
and cumin in it. I tell her my favourite recipe involves cinnamon and she
says that it sounds delicious.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I look for the people in aprons giving out food.
I’m going to find them all.
I’m going to try one of everything.

TUESDAY
11
 I ask a particularly gullible looking woman if I can take another
shortbread biscuit for my mother who’s just gone to get some
potatoes. I tell her my mother loves shortbread. I tell her my mother is
like my best friend. I tell her I love my mother.
She smiles at me.
I don’t even wait to turn the corner before I put the shortbread in my
mouth.
Shortbread is my favourite.

THE MAN: I find the sock aisle.

Buying socks is not something that I enjoy.
Something that really gets me is the way they stitch the size into the
bottom of the sock instead of just putting it on the label. Like in case
you’re really dumb and you forget what size your foot is, you can just
take your shoe off and look at the bottom of your sock.
That really fucking gets me.
I know what size my feet are.
They’re a size eleven.

I buy two pairs of socks and a pair of tracksuit pants because I’ve
never bought tracksuit pants from a supermarket before.
They look comfortable. I will jog in them.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I pull all the price tags off the sale items. You know how they stick
those little bits of paper on the shelves when things are on special? I
put them in my pocket.

THE WOMAN: In the juice aisle a woman drops a carton of Apple and Blackcurrant
Juice on the ground and it goes everywhere.
 
THE MAN: Some bitch spills juice everywhere. She doesn’t wait for it to be
cleaned up. If I was the manager of this joint I’d be spewing.

THE WOMAN: It goes further than I expected. She looks at it and then she walks
away. Someone could slip on that. Someone could slip and break their
neck. I put my bottle of juice carefully in my trolley and then I stand
there. I find myself watching the puddle until a young boy with a
Fastmart cap arrives with a mop.

THE MAN: There’s this woman there. She’s just standing. Watching the puddle of
juice like it holds the answer to the fucking universe or something. I
watch her watching it. What’s she watching a puddle of fucking juice
for? Why doesn’t she fucking move?

THE MANAGER: I’m walking around the shelves now and I can’t see any Tuesday
Special signs anywhere. All the price tags are gone. I’m sure I sent an
email about that. I’m sure I told them to put the price tags on. Why has
no one put the price tags on?

THE SCHOOLGIRL: There’s a little boy.

He’s got snot on his face.
He stands in the middle of the aisle and he screams. He’s got his little
hands all bunched up into fists. His face goes red. When he runs out of
air he just falls to the ground.

In my head for a moment I imagine what it would be like if people didn’t

stop doing that when they reached the age of five.

TUESDAY
12
 She practices screaming in silent.

THE MANAGER: I find the Assistant Manager.

She is reading a magazine.
I ask her why there were no Tuesday Special price tags on any of the
Tuesday Specials.
I ask her how people are going to know that Pura Light Start is three
dollars and twenty-seven cents instead of four dollars thirty-seven
cents on Tuesdays.
I ask her how we will print more Tuesday Special price tags when there
is no promotional price tag paper to print them on.
I ask her why people would choose to shop at Fastmart instead of
another supermarket.
I remind her of the importance of following procedures.
I remind her we are here to provide a service to the public.
I remind her we are here to provide the best possible service we can.

THE MAN: I’ve been wandering around for ages now trying to navigate my way
around this fucking supermarket.
I hate wandering.
If I wanted to wander I’d go to a park.

Why the fuck is it so hard to find the canned goods?

Why the fuck is there detergent where the canned goods used to be?

THE WOMAN: Behind me I hear a voice that I don’t want to recognise.

And before I have a chance to push my trolley very quickly around the
corner she is saying hello and isn’t this just such a pleasant surprise to
bump into me here in the supermarket.
I force a smile onto my face.
I say it’s so nice.
I say it’s just lovely.
She’s telling me about her son and how he’s finding it such fun and
such an honor and such a great big fabulous fantastic challenge being
school captain and head of the rowing team at the same very exciting
very excellent time.
And she asks me if my son is still rowing.
She says she hasn’t seen him.
And through my smile I tell her no.
I tell her he thinks it’s more important to focus on his studies.
And she says she understands.
And she says she knows it’s harder for some people.
And she tells me she’s so impressed. So impressed that her son
seems to have this magical power this magical energy that just keeps
him going. That just keeps him studying late into the night and then
getting up early to push some oars back and forth in a river in the
freezing cold in a lycra suit that is too tight.
And then she dares to mention the ring that my son decided to put
through his nose.
And she asks me how I feel about that.
And I tell her I’m glad he can express himself.
And I tell her I’d better hurry because I think my parking ticket will
expire soon and I push my trolley so quickly and so vigorously around
the corner that I hurt my wrist.

TUESDAY
13
THE MAN: They’ve got these signs everywhere hanging from the ceiling.

“Count your savings. Count on us.”

They’re just at the right height to touch the bottom of. I touch all of
them.
Every single one. They’re all swaying now. Like the wind got in here. I
think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
No one notices.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: Above my head the signs are swinging. They say something about
savings. The swinging makes me feel sick. I want to sit down.
Do you know what’d be really great?
If they had more seats in supermarkets.
Like if you could just sit down and watch everyone do their shopping?
Like right in the middle of the aisle?

THE MAN: I finally find the right aisle and I feel still for a moment.
The shape of cans is something that I really enjoy.
And the colours on the labels.
And the way the metal has those little ridges in it.
I make sure to buy most of my food items in cans.
Cans are something that will last forever.
I really like that.

THE MANAGER: I find my pyramid of tuna cans and I look at it for a long time to calm
myself down.
I made this pyramid of tuna. One can at a time.
There is a giant inflatable tuna fish hanging above it.

“Inflatable tuna fish must be displayed in store at all times for the
duration of the promotion.”

I watch the fish as it rotates around.

Out of all the inflatable objects in the supermarket, I like this tuna fish
the most.

A lady takes a can of tuna from the middle of the pyramid.

She has blonde hair and she is wearing blue. From the back she looks
just like my wife.
I tell her “thank you for shopping at Fast Mart” and then I rearrange the
pyramid so it looks more even.

THE WOMAN: I see the woman who dropped the juice again. She’s looking at
washing detergent now. She’s in my way.

Excuse me.
Excuse me I just want to get to the…

She’s not listening to me.

I run over her foot with my trolley. I’ve never felt so. Big. So totally big
and overpowering. Like I can change things. And I could’ve sworn I
lifted a little bit off the ground. Felt like I was flying.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: Simon said I look nice when I run.

I started running more.

TUESDAY
14
 I started running to and from school.
I started running from Maths to Science.
I started running from Art to History.
I started running around my backyard and down my hallway.
There’s a mirror at the end of it. I watch myself.
My boobs. They do this thing when I run. Bounce up and down a bit?
They like that don’t they? Boys?

THE MANAGER: In the lunchroom I heat my soup up. I’m thinking about my wife and
suddenly there is soup everywhere. There was no warning that this was
going to happen. Isn’t there usually some kind of warning? Why can’t
there be a warning?

THE WOMAN: Suddenly I become very aware of the music they are playing. They’re
playing that song. The one about the lady wearing red.

And because of this certain song at this certain time in this certain aisle
of the supermarket I find to my surprise that there are tears streaming
down my face.

It feels. Fantastic.

Fantastic. Fantastic. Fantastic.

And the song keeps going. And I’m in the frozen food aisle. If I was in
any other aisle. If I was anywhere else.

And I’m ready. Really. Really ready. To have a good cry. Right here in
the supermarket. And then the song stops. And there’s a voice.
Someone wants a price check on something.

THE MAN: Just as I get to the checkout the man puts that pathetic little plastic
sign up. Instead of “checkout closed” it says “let us serve you at
another checkout”.

I go to the express checkout for people who have twelve items or less
because I have ten.
The woman in front of me has a trolley. You’re not supposed to have a
trolley in the express checkout for people with twelve items or less.
She’s on her phone.
That’s something that really gets me. People on phones.
And I wish I hadn’t noticed but she’s wearing a blue shirt.
It was the same blue as the patch on my ceiling.
She’s laughing too much.
In between her laughter she’s arguing with the checkout chick about
the price of a bottle of milk.
She says in the catalogue it was advertised as three dollars and
twenty-seven cents.
She says she refuses to pay four dollars thirty-seven for milk that was
advertised as three dollars and twenty-seven cents.
She says something about it being Tuesday.

There’s this stupid song playing.

You know that stupid soppy song? About some lady wearing red?
The girl on the phone gets really excited about it.
She’s telling her friend.
She’s saying remember that time she wore a red dress and she met

TUESDAY
15
 that guy.
She says that guy was really good at oral sex.
She says she wishes she’d had more.
What’s she telling the whole fucking supermarket about oral sex for?
That really fucking gets me. When people do that.
While she’s waiting for the price to be checked she adds a chocolate
bar that costs a dollar ten to her pile.
Do the math.

THE WOMAN: Someone at checkout number nine wants a price check on something
and they’ve interrupted my song and I’m suddenly very aware. Very
aware that I am standing in the frozen food aisle at the supermarket
with tears falling down my face.

A little boy with too much hair shoots a packet of Frozen Peas with a
gun. He’s got one of those plastic guns that shoot little orange things
out of them. What kind of mother lets her son take a thing like that to
the supermarket?

I find myself staring at him. I think I am still crying. His mother walks
away and he follows her. Just before they reach the end of the aisle he
turns around and shoots at me with his gun. He is looking right at my
face and then he laughs.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: In the fridges where they keep the milk at the supermarket you can see
your reflection.
I take my backpack off and I start running.
I’ve perfected the art of keeping my boobs up when I run. It’s a real skill
you know. Sometimes they can just look saggy.
I run up and down and up and down and then I do that slidey thing and
I put my arms in the air.
These shoes are perfect for sliding in.
That’s my favourite thing about school shoes. You can slide in them
really well.
When I’m sliding past the low-fat milk someone in a Fastmart cap
opens the fridge door and I almost crash into it.
They tell themselves the price is four dollars thirty-seven and then they
ask me not to slide in the supermarket. They say something about it
being an Occupational Health and Safety Risk.
Basically they mean you can’t have fun.
That is something I have learnt.
 
THE WOMAN: The man who serves me is wearing a nametag. His name is Liam and
he reminds me of my son. I think that is a nice name.

Liam asks me how I am. I tell him good thank you how are you? And
on this occasion I really want to know.
Tell me how you are, Liam.
Please.

He says he is good thanks. Maybe he is.

THE MANAGER: By the time I’ve finished cleaning the microwave, my soup is almost
cold. Someone’s thrown all the magazines out. I look up at the CCTV
screens and I try and solve the Tuesday Special problem in my head.

THE WOMAN: Liam is very fast at pressing buttons.

TUESDAY
16
 He scans my groceries. The beeping noise makes my head want to
explode. And suddenly I can hear all of them. All fifteen checkouts. All
beeping. All at once. Slightly out of synch.

If they could just beep at the same time. If they could all do that. Just
once. In perfect unison. I think that would be the greatest feat of
human organisation there ever was.

For some reason I don’t want to leave. Underneath his name on his
nametag it says: “count on me”.

THE MAN: Some people.

They get this look about them.
The bitch is still on her fucking phone.
She takes her shopping.
She doesn’t say thank you.
 
THE MANAGER: I stare at the screen.
Grey and white figures move around the aisles.
I can’t imagine them being real people.
I stare at them buying their magazines and their chicken breasts and
their hypoallergenic nappies and their secret chocolate bars.
I stare at them at the checkout. I stare at them in the car park.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: I walk out through one of the checkouts.

They ask to check my bag.
I knew they would do that.

THE MAN: I get back to my car and there’s a trolley in front of it.
It really fucking gets me when people do that.

It’s only just been put there.

It’s not completely still.
It hits the side of my car.

That bitch. In blue. Who was arguing about the price of milk. She’s
right there next to my car. She’s got this smile. Why does she have to
smile like that?

If I was anyone else I would’ve just pushed the trolley into the next
parking space. Put it in front of a car I didn’t like the look of. A car with
soft toys on the dashboard. Or one of those custom number plates.
But I didn’t.
Because if I did it’d just add to this never-ending chain of shit that
keeps going. Which is why the world looks the way it does. You know,
fucked.
Because everyone just moves their trolley into someone else’s fucking
parking space. And if they all just put the trolley back in the fucking
trolley bay where they got it from I reckon we’d all be just fine.

I take the trolley and I move it back to where all the other trolleys are.

That lady who was staring at the puddle of juice is just standing there.
Next to the trolley bay. She must be the slowest fucking person in the
universe.

TUESDAY
17
 I turn around to walk back to my car and the only thing I can see in the
whole world is a handbag.
Sitting on top of my car.
No one asked me if they could put that there.
I did not give permission for someone to put that there.

THE WOMAN: It’s turned colder outside. A man pushes past me and shoves a trolley
into the trolley bay.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: There’s a man being weird. Like he’s got a whole other person inside
him who doesn’t fit.

THE MANAGER: A figure rushes across the screen.

THE WOMAN: A man. That man with the trolley.

THE MAN: You have no idea how mean I can be.

That’s a secret I’ll let you in on.
You wouldn’t understand.
She was wearing a blue shirt.
She had the nerve to laugh.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: He’s moving like someone in a movie.

He’s got something in his hand.

THE MAN: There’s something in my hand and I have the feeling of absolute
uncontrollable invincibility.

THE MANAGER: As I see it, my spoon doesn’t reach my mouth properly and I spill soup
down my shirt.

THE WOMAN: There’s a thud and then the sound of something splashing.
I turn around and I wish I really wish I could turn back the other way
again but I don’t I really don’t I actually just don’t think I can.

THE MANAGER: The soup is still on my shirt.

I manage somehow to spread it everywhere. It’s embedded in the
fabric. There’s no hope.

THE WOMAN: She’s wearing this pretty blue shirt.

A delicate blue. Like the sky.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: There’s milk in a bottle and it explodes.

THE WOMAN: She’s dropped her shopping.

He’s hitting her and hitting her and hitting her and I think stop.
Please stop.

The following dialogue is spoken at the same time, overlapping, but with enough orchestration
so you can still understand what each character is saying.

TUESDAY
18
THE WOMAN: THE SCHOOLGIRL: THE MANAGER:

I can’t imagine what it would
feel like. To be hit like that.
We wanted to well I wanted
to I mean I hope I imagine we
all wanted to
Feel the pain
Feel the blow
And the crunch
And the throbbing
And we wanted to shake
Shake uncontrollably
Helplessly
On the concrete
Like her.
Please stop. Please just stop.
 
 
All the voices stop abruptly at the same time. There is a pause.
THE MAN:
It’s still going.
It’s actually still going.
And no one is doing
Anything and I can’t
believe this is happening
and everyone is gasping
and everyone has
their mouths open and
now she is on the ground.
She’s fallen to the ground.
And there’s mess coming
out of her.
And each time he lifts his
hand up in the air everything
inside me collapses and then
rebuilds itself again.
And I get the feeling we could be really brilliant.
Like all of us together. If we tried a bit harder.
But it’s too late for that now.
There are flow charts that
are meant to be followed in
these situations.
Somewhere on my desk there
are flow charts with lines and
boxes and arrows.
I am trying to remember what
the boxes say
I am trying to remember
which way the arrows go.
I am trying to remember what
I am supposed to do and
which way I am supposed to
walk.
On the flow chart there was
something about…
Something about…
There was something
about…

THE WOMAN: Her shirt. It isn’t blue anymore.

The milk is pooling out from underneath her body.

THE SCHOOLGIRL: Her face. I can’t stop looking at her face.

It doesn’t look like a face anymore.

THE WOMAN: I didn’t think it would do that. Ooze out from her body like that.

THE MANAGER: At 13:37 the assailant exited the supermarket via the High St exit and
proceeded south towards his vehicle - a 1987, champagne coloured
Toyota Corolla.

Eyewitnesses say the man was tall, of an athletic build, with reddish
hair. He was wearing a striped shirt, jeans and sneakers.

He seemed to become agitated by the presence of a recently

abandoned shopping trolley at the rear of his vehicle. He returned the
trolley to the nearby trolley bay.

THE MANAGER continues the report underneath the voices of the other characters.

TUESDAY
19
 THE SCHOOLGIRL:
At the intersection both traffic lights are
red.
Everything is still for a minute.
On this day this minute lasts for an
eternity.
When the traffic lights finally turn green
she is lying on the concrete. Shaking. She
has bare legs and I think they must be
freezing.
THE WOMAN:
He drops the can.
It rolls towards me.
THE SCHOOLGIRL:
Hold my hand.
I really want someone to hold my hand.
THE WOMAN:
For some reason – because of the
Texture of the concrete and the pull of
gravity and the pressure of the wind
and the rotation of the earth and
several other factors having to do with
physics that I don’t quite understand
and probably never could even if I
tried, the can starts rolling towards
me. Right to where I am standing. And
through the blood I can see the label.
… attempted to converse with the assailant
Hot dogs.
I had no idea they came in cans.
  13:41. At approximately 13:42 I called
THE SCHOOLGIRL:
There’s a part of me. A small part.
This part of me wishes she would die.
THE WOMAN:
“Tasty Plumrose Skinless Hot Dogs
are the best traditional hot dog around
without any chewy casing found in
chilled sausages.”
TUESDAY
20
THE MANAGER:
He is then said to have sighted a handbag
on the roof of his car. This handbag did, it
turns out, belong to the victim.
He ran at a sprint towards the victim, who
was standing next to her car talking on a
mobile phone.
The victim was of average height and
weight, with blonde hair reaching her
shoulders, and was wearing a blue shirt
and jeans.
At the car he began hitting her in the back
of the head with a blunt object, causing
her to drop her shopping.
The victim’s groceries included 200g of
button mushrooms, three Granny Smith
apples, a 1kg box of Omo Sensitive
Laundry Powder, a block of Coon Light &
Tasty, a whole raw chicken, an 800g box
of Special K, a Cherry Ripe and a two-litre
container of Pura Light Start. The bottle of
Pura Light Start is said to have burst open
and spilled on the asphalt of the car park.
The perpetrator can be seen to strike the
victim on or about the face seven more
times before abruptly ceasing his assault.
He dropped the weapon, which then
rolled towards Eyewitness 3. At this
juncture he was restrained by Carl
Watson, the on shift security guard who
who was at this point physically and
verbally non-responsive.
I arrived at the scene at approximately
emergency services and was informed
that they were on their way, having been
alerted to the assault by Eyewitnesses 6,
8, 9, 12 and 16.
I had taken the First Aid kit from the
Emergency Management cupboard before
I reached the scene but the victim's
injuries were beyond the scope of my first
aid training so I placed her in the recovery
position.
t
 THE WOMAN: THE MANAGER:

What kind of person eats a hotdog out of A police car arrived at approximately
a can? 13:57. I ceded authority to Senior
Constable Nicolas Gannon upon his arrival
THE SCHOOLGIRL: and attempted to assist him with his
inquiries to the best of my abilities.
He wasn’t wearing any socks.  
The ambulance arrived at approximately
14:10 and two paramedics – one male,
one female, attended to the victim. The
victim was taken to a nearby hospital
where I understand she underwent
emergency surgery and was placed in
intensive care.
 

THE MANAGER fades his report into a whisper and then stops.

THE END.

TUESDAY
21