Life in the slow lane

I had for the corner shop to get my paper. Mrs Slow is on the till. My heart sinks. The queue is already five people deep. I grab my paper and join the queue. It's painful to watch her doing everything in slow motion, slowly, methodically analysing each item carefully before presenting it to the bar code reader. Nothing happens. She turns the item round slowly. Still nothing. She pulls the item closer to herself to have a good look at it all round to find the bar code. She can't find it. Her hand is covering it. Eventually she finds it and thinking very carefully decides which way round to hold the item. The reader beeps. She then decides how she is going to place the scanned item in the bag. People in front of me are tapping their feet, shuffling and generally seething quietly. It takes what seems like hours to scan the four items. Then we get to the money. Decisions decisions what combination of coins would be most appropriate to give to the customer. She selects a few coins thinks better of it, drops them back in the till  and selects a few more, then counts them from one hand to the other and counts them again slowly into the waiting customers hand. We're done hooray"! Next. But no she has to enquire about the customers children. Internally I'm screaming, "For Gods sake..." The customer well aware of the queue behind her is trying to leave but Mrs Slow leans over the top of the till to impart more words of comfort and sympathy. Fi9nally she customer drags herself away from the pointless conversation and Mrs Slow steadies herself before looking up to the next customer who sprints forward as fast as possible throwing his two packets of chocolate and a can of drink onto the counter. his speed in unnecessary. it wont make any difference. it will still take ten minutes to scan three items. I muse that at this rate I'll have time to read all five sections of the paper, do the crossword and the soduko and still have time to return the paper to the shelf and leave before I get to pay. By now there are five more customers behind me. Mrs Slow looks up at the lengthening queue and places her hand under the counter and rings a bell for assistance. No one comes, they are all behind the mirror door laughing.
Eventually, just as I am losing the will to live, I arrive at the front of the queue. I give her the exact money £2.20. She counts it carefully, very carefully, there's four five pence pieces, I couldn't have made it harder for her. She looks up and nods I'm halfway to the door, "Excuse me." she calls, "would you like your receipt?"
"No." As I leave I see her carefully screwing up the receipt and looking for a bin to throw it in. I don't know if she found one.
I leave the shop my man is coming down he road to collect his breakfast I say "Mrs Slow is on the till."
He spins round "Polish shop then."
"You OK?"
"Never better." he replies, "it's all good."
These are not words I normally expect from him. Normally some sort of tragedy has happened in his life."Better go get breakfast then?" I venture.
"Yep Breakfast first then get cracking. I've got loads to do."
But I know  after his normal breakfast of four cans of super strong lager, his day will go to shit. But for now he's relatively chipper and full of the joys of spring even though it's autumn. It wont last.
I carry on home and settle down with my paper. My man walks past my window waving an opened can in one hand, the other three cans dangling from the plastic wrap down by his side. Breakfast is served. I settle back with the crossword "1a Diana giving emphasis when much troubled (10)" Yep that's what he's going to be soon when the beer runs out.