I have a list of twelve things. I know how to get there, where to park and where to pay. I know the store layout, having been in literally hundreds of times, and I also know I’m getting stressed when the Foo Fighters are on maximum volume but still aren’t loud enough.
I’m in the car park, but I don’t recall having slowed down for the three sets of speed bumps which usually try to dislodge my exhaust and buckle all four wheels. There aren’t many customers here this evening, and my hopes are raised at the thought of a quiet shop. Then I hit a snag. The row where I usually park is full. Completely full. I tell myself to just park somewhere else, but it’s not happening. The other thousand spaces are simply not where I park.
Eventually I compromise. I park on the back of "my" row, which is just a few metres away from the security of normality, but still a few metres too far. It just doesn't feel right. A group of teenage boys are swearing and shouting as they approach the supermarket entrance. This adds to my reluctance to leave the car. I wait until there is no one about.
I’m walking into the store with a trolley – so far, so good. Then wham! How bright is it in here tonight?! It’s like leaving the cinema on a sunny day. The cold, dark car park feels like a different planet. I close my eyes and try to focus. I talk to myself again. This is ridiculous. You’ve been here so many times. You’re not lost. Get the shopping and go.
I glance at the list. The first item: red wine. You can tell I wrote this! I know exactly where the aisle is. It’s the last one, right at the back of the store. I know I am going to walk past all the other things on the list, but I’m on my own, and when I’m on my own I have to follow the list. My supermarket trips are borderline work outs. If one of my boys were with me, we could walk through the store, stopping whenever we reached something we needed. But on my own that isn’t going to happen.
I’ll try to explain. The route I take will be the one which helps me to avoid as many of the other shoppers as possible. If an aisle has lots of people, I will panic. Getting the crisps and snacks on a Friday evening is going to take a while. I seem to spend a lot of time in supermarkets looking at birdseed, toilet brushes and tinned fruit.
When I’m alone I can get so nervous that I can’t say “Excuse me” loud enough to be heard. If a trolley is in the way, I’ll move it myself, and people don’t seem to like that. Sometimes I have abandoned the trolley while I go on foot to negotiate a busy aisle. Then I might get so worked up, or even excited that I have found the Holy Grail of frozen puff pastry (second on my list and not added by me), that I can’t remember where the bloody trolley is and have to start from scratch.
In the background I can hear the Fab Four singing “Let it Be”. A beautiful song, but it’s not loud enough. Either have it on or off. At the moment it’s just adding to the fog which is hindering my fifteenth lap of the store.
Beeping tills, train like trolleys clanking and whirring, tens of conversations, buzzing freezers, someone throwing cans of dog food into their trolley, clunk, clunk ( I don’t even have a dog but it was the quietest aisle), and constant tannoy announcements about Covid.
Eyes fixed on the list, looking up only to scan the shelves and avoid a head on collision. If I catch sight of other shoppers' faces they look (to me) angry and unfriendly.
Thirty five minutes later I have added all twelve items to the trolley. The finish line, or check out as some people call it, is in sight. I don’t choose the shortest queue, but the one that poses the least threat. I always avoid queuing behind another man as that makes me anxious.
“Do you need help packing?” asks the lady at the till. I politely decline, and instead proceed to fumble along, placing tins of beans on top of eggs, and squishing tomatoes with the well earned bottle of Montepulciano. Now my "spotlight sensation" kicks in. Everyone in the store is watching me, waiting for a mistake and for something to go wrong. My cheeks burn as the blood flows to my head. I imagine my face is the same colour as the wine.
Finally I scan my debit card, say a quick, and probably inaudible thank you, before speeding out of the store and almost mowing down two children and a guide dog. Back in the safety and comfort of the car, I take a deep breath and turn the ignition. The engine starts and the Foo Fighters kick in. It’s deafening! I spin the volume dial left and warily take a new route out the car park, relieved as three sets of speed bumps attempt to snap both axles and my spine simultaneously.
TIPS FOR SHOPPING
· Try online shopping or Click and Collect – it does work!
· Many supermarkets have resurrected an autism hour. Look online for up-to-date details.
· Try to find the quietest times of the day to go shopping. The store can tell you.
· Be aware of your personal triggers and try to avoid them. (cold temperatures of freezers, strong smell of certain foods)
· Familiarise yourself with the location of the exit, check out and escalators before you contemplate shopping.
· Play music through earphones / use noise cancelling headphones.
· Redraft your shopping list so that you group items by where they are in the supermarket. This will minimise confusion and speed up your shopping trip.
· Suck strong flavour sweets / chew gum to calm you and to ground you if you start to panic.
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