A Funny Thing Happened to Me on My Way Home

I've lived in Ibiza a long fourth dimension. By about people's standards, I alive a pretty normal life. Well, comparatively normal compared to some of the more than outlandish characters you meet on this island! I become upwards in the morning, go to yoga every 24-hour interval (disclaimer: Endeavour to go to yoga every twenty-four hour period), run a business, manage a squad of staff, meet my deadlines, cook at abode, encounter my friends, read and lookout man a lot of Netflix. I go to a lot of interesting places and encounter a lot of interesting people through my work but when it comes to having adventures or crazy things happening to me, well, I retrieve my life is pretty tame. Until yesterday…

Y'all run across, a funny thing happened to me on my way to the office. Technically I was on my way dwelling house, since I piece of work remotely, but it was that part of my daily routine where I left the yoga studio, en route to my house to become started for the twenty-four hour period. And then let'due south just say I was on my manner to the office. I left the studio feeling fresh, energised and happy, pondering the tasks I had to accomplish over the class of the day. I realised that I really needed a solid slog at my figurer – you know the kind, where you switch your telephone and email off and only write furiously (only happily!) for 12 hours straight. Oh – you don't do that? Mayhap it'south just me. Anyway, I knew that was what I needed. [Editor'due south note: Skip to the finish paragraph for the concise version. Or cascade yourself a drink and bask the journeying. And gratuitous cat photos.]

With my impending studious work day in listen, I decided to detour via a few shops in order to option up the bits and bobs I needed at home to get through the solar day without any distractions. True cat food, painkillers (I get a sore back on these types of piece of work sessions only feel it'southward worth it), water, matcha free energy drinks and chocolate. Also some shampoo, conditioner and washing upwardly liquid (organic! I care nigh the body of water) as I knew I was running low. This is where my head was at. I couldn't look to become home, open all the doors and windows, get the fresh spring air running through the house and bunker downwards with my laptop. I was thinking I could start outside on the roof terrace, so move to my desk-bound and finish upwardly under my duvet.

I like to mix things up, you lot know? Then first stop (and pay attention hither because this office is important) was the pet store. It's diagonally reverse my yoga studio (Hot Yoga Ibiza in case you're wondering) – couldn't be more convenient for a yoga loving cat possessor. I had my oversized Ibicenco basket with the hand-stitched leather pockets and trim with me, because again, I care about the surround and desire to say no to plastic where possible. I filled it nigh to the brim with a tasty (if you're a cat) assortment of organic sachets, tins, boxes and bags of cat nutrient. My hirsuite friends have expensive sense of taste, just I don't mind indulging it – they're my babies afterwards all.

So I went to the pharmacy (I LOVE Spanish pharmacies and so much, with their flashing green crosses above the doors and sell annihilation over the counter attitudes) and also made a little pit stop at my favourite Spanish bakery for a pastry. Then it was time for the supermarkets. If you live in Ibiza, y'all'll understand the plight of trying to tick all things off your shopping listing in one place – it's near impossible. We don't accept anything resembling an M&S and we most certainly don't take a Whole Foods. Simply my listing was pretty small and I knew if I took a slight diversion on the way home, I could swing via a HiperCentro (kind of like the closest you lot'd go to Tesco simply not even half as skillful) where I could pick up the things I need AND be able to get a couple of lilliputian bags of brand name true cat treats that my fussy felines have taken a shining as well, despite their generic nature.

I zipped into the Hipercentro, slightly struggling with the weight of all that true cat food in my basket combined with my yoga mat and my purse. I decided then and at that place to make it brief and not get carried away as it was a xv-minute walk to my house and I was already feeling like a pack horse. I zoomed straight up to the pet food aisle, grabbed what I needed, diverted through the beauty section to selection upward my hair products, completely forgot about the washing up liquid (y'all e'er forget something, right?), decided against buying h2o as information technology was too heavy and headed straight to the cash register. (In example anyone is wondering almost my matcha drinks – no I didn't forget, they're from a petty wellness nutrient shop closer to abode.)

I would say I was in the store no more than than vi minutes in total. Half dozen MINUTES. I got to the cash annals and in that location was a scruffy looking human haggling over 27c. He had xx€ and his bill had come to 20.27€. I was quite far back in the queue merely just as I was contemplating giving him the spare change (we've all been there), he moved on and the queue progressed. Finally, information technology was my plough and I put my few things on the conveyor belt, smiled and said hola to the cashier (I always make the effort to do that – with contactless cards and the like, no one even makes center contact these days) who asked if she could check my purse. Por supuesto (of form), I said happily, unzipping the lovely caramel brown leather nada on my basket. I laughed as I tipped the handbasket in her direction and told her (in Castilian) that it was just total of cat food. And then this is when things got interesting…

Suddenly, I feel like I can run into Señorita Checkout Chick'southward brain literally FLIP into a new mode. She snappily asks to run across my receipt, except I don't take a receipt – this is Ibiza, little tiendas like pet shops don't give you a receipt for your purchase unless you specifically ask for it (and think, I intendance about the environment – allow's not waste paper) or pay by bill of fare. I tell her this and explain that information technology's totally different cat food (Hello – the HiperCentro does NOT sell expensive organic shellfish and rice blends) but by this point she no longer cares about what I'm saying. I accept become a shoplifter in her glaring eyes, and she starts rifling through my basket, pulling out all varieties of cat nutrient and muttering that they as well sell it, and I cannot have it dorsum without a receipt.

Past now, later on the specially long line, and my diversionary walk to this detail supermarket, I'm getting conscious that this arguing is cut into my work day. And of class, I know I've done nothing wrong then I am starting to get a niggling irritated that she's suggesting I accept stolen cat food. I really, really, take to fight the urge to tell her that if I had WANTED to steal cat food, she wouldn't fifty-fifty know I'd stolen it and I'd be halfway abode by now, or that if I was planinng to steal cat food it wouldn't be the cheap garbage they sell in the HiperCentro, but I resist since I know it won't help my example. I'm reminded of the awesome Jane's Addiction vocal Been Caught Stealing but I remember breaking into song won't exist appreciated. I likewise want to enquire her what it is well-nigh me that looks like a thief (as I mentioned – I am pretty normal! I was in my yoga gear, hair in nice slap-up braids and wearing Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses) but to my total horror, I have forgotten the Spanish word for thief! It'due south on the tip of my tongue when she tells me I have to be detained while they cheque the CCTV footage of me in the store. DETAINED! Oh my days. Sidenote: I've never stolen a thing in my life – I put information technology downward to working in retail from the historic period of xiv. I e'er respected the P&L procedure.

And so, turns out the HiperCentro version of jail is just standing in that little area behind the register, while Señorita Checkout Chick keeps concur of my basket AND makes me pay for the groceries she'd already rung up while she calls her managing director. Her managing director is equally as displeased to meet me, although I can tell the very minute she looks into my basket, she recognises this is not your stock standard HiperCentro consequence cat food, but on principle, she goes back to her part and watches said CCTV footage, agrees I have not stolen anything and proceeds to let me become without a word of amends. I have half a heed to skid a Mars Bar in my pocket, like my friend Miss L does when she gets pissed about waiting in a checkout queue. But I rise in a higher place (thank yous yoga practice) and dramatically stash everything dorsum in my basket and stomp out.

The infinitesimal… I mean, the very Infinitesimal I have exited the sliding supermarket doors, my brain kicks into gear. LADRÓN! That's the Spanish word for thief. I contemplate poking my caput back in and finally saying my piece properly but instead focus on getting myself abode for that long, intense work day. And instead, I mentally express my gratitude to Señorita Checkout Chick for giving me something to write about! Hopefully she got go home and tell her kids and hubby near the crazy guiri (expat/foreigner) cat lady she almost defenseless stealing today and we all live happily ever after. [Miss W's annotation: I tin can assure you, these are not ALL my cats – I just wanted an excuse to publish all these pictures!]

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Source: https://www.white-ibiza.com/a-funny-thing-happened-on-my-way-to-the-office/

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