“You look knackered,” the Tram Stop chip girl offered as I finally made my way to the head of the queue that ended at the street. “Yes, and starved…large cod please.” “Oooo, I’m sorry, we only have small cod.” “Hmm…small cod please.”
She offered to let me choose my quarry and I looked through the glass cabinet to see fried fish each larger than my head. Barely able to think, I asked her to choose for me and she did quite well: delicious, steamed in its packet of crisp batter crust, and only a little too much salt…I wandered out to find a cornershop for something to drink.
Cornershop is also the name of this band from the 90’s that was popular in Britain but mostly unknown in the US, named such because “cornershop” was a derogatory term for the Indian underclass and the members decided to retake possession. I mention this because I went to ask a guy walking toward me where to find something to drink and, on noticing he was of Indian or Pakistani abstraction stumbled over my words and managed to change “cornershop” to “grocery” thus avoiding the rant “oh, you see the Indian guy and you think my family owns the cornershop…racist.”