Early customer this morning wanted groceries home delivered, he and his wife reeked of smoke and so did all their bags.
That really strong smell that you get when the smoke has leached right into the fabrics of things and never been washed.
The smell that rises up and slaps you in the face.
I remember the things in my Dad's flat smelling exactly the same after he'd sat in there chain smoking for several years, not just the soft furnishings, but the hard stuff too, especially his TV.
Because they weren't taking their goods with them, the bags sat on the floor behind me for quite a while, before I had time to get a trolley and load them into it so I could move them away from my checkout.
I got a headache immediately, then a couple of other customers about an hour later had the same smell.
Another home delivery.
More stinky bags sitting right behind me.
These are people I've never seen before, they're not regulars, so I wasn't comfortable mentioning that perhaps they could wash their bags.
With people I've gotten to know over the years, I would have been able to suggest it might be a good idea to wash the bags.
If it had been a little later in the morning, with more checkout staff working, I could have asked someone else to step in for me for a minute, but at that time there were only two of us and L was already serving customers on another checkout. J wasn't due in for another ten minutes.
In spite of many, many panadols, and a two hour nap, my brain is throbbing like a Mack truck idling at the lights. Like a convoy of Harley Davidsons cruising the main roads.
I'll be in bed early tonight.
IF TWITTER EXISTED WHEN THE BIBLE WAS WRITTEN...
3 hours ago