Adieu Carrefour!

The news was like having something ripped out of me from deep inside.  My lockdown saviour, our local Carrefour supermarket, is closing its doors today.

A collage of memories:

Queuing by myself (no Dd allowed) for twenty minutes on the pavement, with 2m metre spacing and mask on, waiting to get in, ‘surgeon’s fingers’ poking vertically into the latex gloves in the entrance way, gel lubrication feeling cold and smooth, opening the folding metal-cage of my shopping trolley and securing the built-in shelf in the open position with the counterbalance-weight of the extra carrier bag, the shopping list in my pocket with items in their quadrants and columns . . .  bread, veg, sweet things, coffee, chicken, mince, and sausage, prawns and squid, cheese and yogurt, sauces, herbs, cleaning fluids, all kinds of domestic papers destined for all kinds of domestic uses, eggs, beer, wine, crisps and juices, water and milk . . . the challenge, always self-set, to get it all without ever looking at the list, the front shop/back shop divide, the strategising and embedding of optimal routes, plus the occasional scouting missions for the elusive speciality that Dd asked for like vanilla essence or bicarbonate of soda with a determination not to ask for help unless absolutely defeated (which was often), the wonderful sense of release and adventure as I set off deep into the back store, the appreciation of this one-hour escape from the enforced days at home with no other break in the week permitted by Spanish law - a policy which lasted for a hundred days, the growing sense of kinship with the masked and plastic screened ladies mincing the beef or swishing items at the check out in the days of no vaccines with the risk that an unguarded touch or stray breath could put them on their backs for days or put a vulnerable loved one onto their deathbed - nobody knew but it all could, and did, happen, and the look of surprise and deep gratitude as I presented them with boxes of chocolate delights in the early days in appreciation of the endless hours that they put themselves at risk.

I have just finished my last ever shop there - our lockdown wines and beer to the fore, as well as the last remaining box of After Eights in the entire store. My two favourite people were on the cash desks and when my card had been accepted and the receipt pressed into my hand, I tried to press into theirs a nice Euro note.  ‘Oh, we cannot!’, they cried…a mixture of politeness and store regulations.   A few words with the manager sorted that out and our mutually grateful goodbyes filled the air . . . adieu!

Postscript

The store is closing for a combination of drop in profits (Euros 8m to 4m in the last few years), a complaint by a neighbour above about noise resulting in a need to insulate the entire place at huge cost, and an astounding increase in competition nearby.   All staff have been reallocated to other stores.