Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures
written by: Kath Lambert
Mike must have driven around the car park 10 times. No space. And they closed in ten minutes. It was ten to four on Christmas Eve. Why had he done this to himself? Every bloody year, he tells himself, be prepared, go shopping in November before it gets busy. As he hated going in December when the shops were heaving. Or better yet, pay attention and make a list of things she wants and buy the damn things online. No need for a shop. But every year, it got to Christmas Eve, and he’d suddenly be in such a frenzy that he would pick up the last remaining item on the Christmas Gifts shelf in Tesco and call it a win. No matter if it was a Marmite set (Zoe didn’t like Marmite). It was honestly a wonder he’d made it with ten minutes to spare, as he’d almost forgotten that Christmas Eve was Bank Holiday hours. But now there was nowhere to sodding park. Then he saw it. The trolly bay only had one trolly in it. All the rest is clearly inside the store, or abandoned in the car park somewhere. He only had a little car. If he moved the trolly out of the way, he reckoned he could fit in there. He parked parallel in front of the trolly bay and put on the handbrake, jumping out while the car idled. He ran to the trolly and pulled it out of the bay, the security guard shouting, “Hey, you can’t leave your car there, mate, you’re blocking the other car from leaving”.
Mike pushed the trolly in front of the car, the security guard was telling him he was blocking and got back in his car, completely ignoring the security guard. He closed the driver’s door, lowered the hand-break and turned his steering wheel so he could drive right and then back into the vacated space. It would be tight getting out, but he really thought he could make it work. He backed up into the space, sparing no thought for the security guard, whose face was incredulous at what was unfolding in front of him, and turned off the engine. He now had seven minutes before the store would close. He’d never cut it this fine in his life. He opened the door gingerly and took a deep breath, as if that could somehow make him smaller, and he squeezed out of the car. He closed the door, locked it, then, not wanting the security guard to shout at him further for still blocking the other car – this time with the discarded trolly – he moved the trolly in front of his own car and dashed to the entrance.
“You’re too late, we’re closing in 5 minutes,” the security guard told him. After watching him park in the trolly bay. Arsehole.
“I will be out in three, I just need one thing,” Mike pleaded.
“It’ll take you longer than that just to get to a till,” The security guard said, arms folded in front of him. Immovable.
“In that case, most of the people in the store will still be in there well after closing. Please. I’m desperate. What’ll it take?” Mike opened his wallet and looked up to the hulking security guard with pleading in his eyes.
“£20 might make me look the other way,” the security guard nodded to the harangued shoppers exiting the supermarket, acting like he wasn’t in the middle of a nefarious bribe.
“Here,” Mike huffed as he reluctantly handed over a £20 note. Next year, he would remember this and be more prepared. He walked around the security guard and into the shop. It was chaos. People running to the till for their last-minute shopping. It would only be closed for one day, yet you’d think it would be closed for a month the way people were acting. He walked, calmly but quickly, to the gift aisle, hoping against hope that there was something, anything, left. There was a constant tannoy going off of “This store will be closing in X minutes, please take your purchases to the nearest checkout,” as he made his way through the throngs of people. They were almost feral.
Finally, he reached his destination. There were a couple of other last-minute Larrys also looking over the scant few items remaining, clearly having forgotten a gift for the significant lady in their life. Mike cast his eye over what was left. A number of bath sets which were no use to him as their bathroom only had a shower. A nail manicure set. That was a possibility. A couple of alcoholic miniatures. Maybe. And then he saw it. It was perfect. It was called ‘A Year Of You: Self Care Gift Box,’ and it contained 24 cards, 12 with ideas on and 12 blank for your own suggestions of self-care dates you could have with yourself. He snatched it off the shelf just as one of the other guys looked like he’d decided that was for him, and he took it to the till just as the tannoy said “this store will be closing in one minute, please take your purchases to the nearest checkout”.
It took about ten minutes for him to get served and get out of the store, but he was right in that he’d definitely not been the last to leave. He clutched his one item as he walked back to his car. The space next to him was free now, typical, so he pushed the trolly that was still sitting in front of his car into that space, and squeezed himself between the side of the trolly bay and his car so he could narrowly open his driver’s door and get in. He’d just sat down and put his phone in the holder on the dashboard when he noticed he had a message.
Zoe: While you’re out, can you grab some milk?
- Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures - December 24, 2025
