The frozen peas are slipping

The frozen peas are slipping, I juggle them to ease frostbite.  The baguette is getting squished and I am regretting buying a sack of potatoes.  Why didn’t I pick up a basket as I came in?  The supermarket queue stretches before me.  It hasn’t moved for at least ten minutes.  “Bonjour m’sieur.”  The words drift back along the queue. We hear about the weather, the harvest, the price of fish, until at last the goods are stored in the basket.  Now begins the cheque book fumble… yes a cheque book.  The elderly man at the front of the queue, slowly and quietly checks every pocket until with a flourish he presents his checkbook to be filled in by a smiling assistant.

The people in the queue smile as he checks each item and the total.  Finally he signs the cheque and hands it back.  There are more “Au revoirs M’sieur” and an exchange of “Bonne Journees” and then it is on to the next person in the queue.

This time an elderly lady, I watch as they go the same procedure, the only difference being the three quick kisses on each cheek.

I just don’t get it!  How can the French be so chilled out?  I put my now warm peas on the counter, smile in response to the “Bonjour Madame” and proceed to chat about the weather, the harvest and oh yes the price of fish… “Il est terrible!”