STEP AWAY FROM THE TURKEY!

 

At the beginning of Lockdown One, our posh supermarket employed extra security guards who stood about, making sure everyone stayed 6 feet apart and sterilised their hands on entry. These guards were very polite and friendly, but would occasionally show their lack of training by shouting back at the odd customer who seemed to think it was his (it always was a 'he') right to get to the head of the queue on account of the importance of his life compared to everyone else's.

These new and - hopefully - temporary guards looked as though they had been pulled out of retirement as reservists. During the wait to get in, I sometimes quite envied them for their cushy jobs. The only job which appeals to me more than one which entails standing around all day looking at people is one which entails sitting around all day looking at people. I do that a lot in any case, but it would be nice to get paid for it.

A few weeks ago, our city elders decreed that a new type of Covid Marshall would be patrolling the streets, making sure that nobody broke the rules. Some have been given electric bikes with thick tyres. Some have uniforms and some have shabby work clothes with a Hi-Viz waistcoat dragged over them. Some even have a job title printed on the Hi-Viz and walk around in pairs. All have I.D. tags around their necks.

Since we shifted from partial lockdown to Tier Two I have noticed a different sort of Marshall on the streets. They don't look as though they live in Bath and they wear an intent expression on their faces. They scan the environment nervously as they walk, as if they are protecting a minor member of the Royal Family. They pause at small shops and peer through the windows before donning masks and going in to have a quiet word with the owners. I can't help thinking of the Stasi when I see this new breed, which is probably an unworthy thought.

Yesterday I went into the posh supermarket as usual, and standing close to the door was a man dressed all in black with a security plastic I.D. arm band. His eyes were set close together and he flashed them around as if making a mental note of everyone in the room to compare with an internal database of Most Wanted Customers.

I tried nodding a greeting at him, but he just stared blankly. The old guard use to say 'Hello Sir' to me when they recognised me, but they are gone.

Then, about half way through my shopping trip, I saw him dart into the central isle and begin to check every other isle as if looking for an armed terrorist. He was almost running.

It was then that I noticed his black leather belt of pouches like the sort the police use. One of those pouches contained a pair of modern, police-issue handcuffs.

The pandemic has adversely affected a lot of people's mental health, but it is a bit worrying to think that  obvious Walter Mitty characters can get paid to play out their fantasies.