Is shop blindness a thing? If it is, I’m afflicted. It happens when I’m in a big shop that sells millions of things and I simply can’t find what I’m looking for, even though I know it’s there. This happens most frequently in supermarkets, where paralysis of choice is often the problem. So many peanut butters. So many toilet rolls. So many washing powders. How? Why? And then there’s that thing they do where they move sections around. No sooner do you get used to the layout than it’s inexplicably all changed. The cooking oils go where the herbs and spices once were, which are now where the pulses were. I’ve struggled to locate the coconut milk ever since it first went on manoeuvres just before the pandemic. How much fun they must have watching us on CCTV, bewitched, bothered and bewildered, scurrying hopelessly up and down aisle after aisle. I forgive them. It must get boring running a supermarket. Let them have their sport.
It’s in Boots that I struggle the most, and I apportion no blame to them. I can just never get to what I’m looking for. I think it’s because most of the stuff they stock is of a similar, smallish size. I just see a retina-burning riot of colours with nothing coming into focus. I walk away, floss-less, vitamin-less, antacid-less, clueless. I have no idea if they’re guilty of moving stuff around because I so rarely find it in the first place.
Worst of all are garden centres. A low-lying jungle of plants opens up before me. I either know what I’m looking for and can’t find it, or more often, don’t know what I’m looking for and need guidance. Either way, there’s never anyone around to help. I execute elaborate twisting, figure-of-eight style laps of the place hoping to chance upon a human being. Occasionally, I resort to parting the branches of the bigger trees and bushes to see if anyone is hiding within. Always in vain. My garden remains bare.
