Trolley Dash
It was a wonderful prize – and two minutes to collect her pick of goodies sounded so simple at first…
Janice picked up the letter and read it again.
It was not every day she was told she had won such an amazing prize, and she couldn’t quite take it all in.
Two minutes to dash around a superstore and fill a trolley. How hard could that be?
She was already imagining herself moving along the aisles, her trolley piled high with top quality meat, wine and all her favourite treats.
Two minutes wasn’t very long, admittedly, but she was certain she could grab quite a lot in that time, even if she had to take things at a fast walk rather than a run.
She turned the letter over, popped her glasses on and found the small print at the bottom.
It seemed there were a few restrictions. No more than three of any one item, no bedding, no electrical goods and, strangely, no cakes.
Fair enough, she thought, mentally crossing the dozen bottles of vintage champagne and a new duvet set off her wish list.
No shop was going to let someone take all the expensive booze or computer games consoles from the shelves, she could see that, but no cakes? What were the cakes made of in this shop that made them so special? Gold dust?
Janice lifted her cat Tiddles down from her lap, made a cup of tea and allowed herself one of the chocolate digestives she usually kept for visitors.
Soon she would be replacing them with the best biscuits the shop had to offer, and they weren’t going to cost her a penny.
She needed a plan. With so little time, there could be no dithering over which chocolates to get, or whether she wanted a chicken or a turkey. No pondering which flavour soup or ice cream or whether she preferred red roses to white.
She should make a list, and stick to it.
If only she had more time to think, but the trolley dash was first thing in the morning, before opening time. The local press were coming, and all she had to do now was give the store a call and confirm that she would be there.
Of course she would. She wouldn’t miss this for the world.
Janice rang her granddaughter next. Jess was seventeen, as tall, slim and athletic as Janice was short, stout and unfit. If only she’d entered the raffle in Jess’s name instead of her own…
“That’s amazing!” Jess said, her voice bubbling down the phone line. “What did you have to do to win? Write a slogan, or guess how many beans in a can?”
“No, it was a raffle, at the spring fair at church. Prizes donated by local businesses, and I won the star prize. It’s not even a shop I’ve heard of. They must be new.”
“Well, you’ve won and that’s all that matters. We’ll go together. I can give you some moral support.
“Now, sort out your flattest, fastest shoes, and have a think about what you want to grab. I wouldn’t mind some of that posh shampoo and conditioner, by the way – and maybe a new hairdryer.”
“It says no electricals, among other things. But you can have a hairbrush.”
“Not quite the same, Gran, but thanks anyway. Oh, this is going to be fun!”
“Now, where is this shop?”
Jess’s arm was looped through Janice’s as they stepped off the bus early the next morning. “Furby’s, you said it’s called, in Sinclair Street…”
They walked away from the town centre and through the back streets, Jess checking the map app on her phone, until she stopped in her tracks and announced that they had arrived.
They stood side by side and gazed up.
“This can’t be it, can it?” Janice was confused.
“It must be. Look. Furby’s, it says.”
“But it’s not a supermarket, it’s a…”
“Pet superstore!” Jess read the sign.
“All your pet supplies under one roof… Oh, Gran, you didn’t read the letter properly, did you?”
“But I don’t understand. They said no bedding allowed…”
“Pet beds, I suppose. They can be pretty expensive.”
“What about no electrical goods?”
“Who knows? Maybe they sell doggie nail clippers or something?”
Janice laughed. “One thing puzzles me though. I’m sure it said no cakes.”
“Let me look.” Jess took the letter from her hand, then burst out laughing.
“No cages, Gran. Not cakes. It’s time you got a new pair of specs!”
The enormous glass doors slid open and the manager came towards them, bearing an empty trolley and a broad smile, a photographer hot on his heels.
“Now, Gran, are you ready to dash?” Jess propelled her forward. “There may not be any wine or hairdryers but this place must be packed with cat treats.
“Go on, do it for Tiddles!”
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