Tosser

I loathe confrontation. People are always surprised by that, believing that because I'm outspoken and confident, I can handle an argument. Sure, I can handle it, but I hate it. The thing is, I hate injustice more.

Yesterday, I hit the supermarket, something I do as infrequently as possible. When I reached the checkout, I unpacked my shopping and watched the couple in front of me joylessly pack their groceries away. She was heavily pregant and looked tired, while he was one of those City types with floppy hair and troubling taste in knitwear. The cashier, a young lad of no more than sixteen or seventeen looked nervous, and it was clear an altercation had taken place. The boy handed the man his receipt, 'Thanks very much, mate.' he said.

'I'm not your mate.' the man replied aggressively and stalked off after his unsmiling wife. The boy blushed, clearly upset by the man's words, and I felt for him.

'Blimey, what was his problem?' I asked, 'Are you okay?' the boy told me everything, with added macho bluster thrown in at the end, then blanched as the man returned to the till, leaned over and told us he wasn't deaf and had heard every word. As he walked off for a second time, I told Lawrence not to worry, the man was clearly an arse, and Lawrence assured me that had never happened to him before.

Shopping done, I left the shop, only to see the tosser haraguing the manager, trying to look reasonable as he accused young Lawrence of discourtesy that was all his own. I saw red, approached, apologised for interrupting and let the man have it with both barrels, telling him he was the one who was rude and that he should get over himself instead of accusing the boy of being rude when all he'd done, at most, was use an inapproriate vernacular with a humourless twat.

The surprise on the man's face was matched by that on the face of the store manager and a few shoppers stopped to stare. But I didn't care, and when the idiot started back at me, I shut him up in the way only an ex-teacher can and stormed out of the shop. As I loaded my shopping into the car, I realised I was shaking, and  was more than a little afraid the man would come out to the car park and lamp me one, but I couldn't help myself - the thought of that boy being told off for something he was not guilty of riled me, for we are all too quick to criticise the young, and all too slow to praise them. And the poor boy was an easy target. Besides, if he wanted to be served by well-spoken, middle-class grammar school kids, the twat should shop in fucking Waitrose.

For the rest of the day, it bothered me. So this morning, I rang the supermarket and was assured the incident had been dealth with, they knew Lawrence was 'a good lad', and all was well. I was thanked for my call - the crazy woman who tells grown men off for behaving like spoilt children in public - but at least I am reassured.