Leeway-Cowley

I’m going to be a bad Unilocaler; This will be a lot of story and only a little information. But it’s a corner market. Small, a few sad vegetable baskets and some bacon.
I walked down to this place because the real grocery had closed. I wanted a couple potatoes or something for the chicken tikka. I brought this wide tote from Tate Modern. We bring our own bags in America, but it’s still more of a novelty than here.
All the place had was potatoes in big sack. Then I thought some Coronas sounded great. I juggled a few bottles before putting everything in the bag. I took a long time because I wasn’t sure how much of a load I wanted to carry for a half mile. Then I got a message about some freelance work, and started to wonder what beer might go better with the tikka, so I was just standing around looking at the shelves and thinking, stealing stuff apparently.
The shop owner had already locked the front, and the lady was covering the side, but I was oblivious. When I got into line though, there were all these customers there, and they all looked at me funny. This woman stayed facing sideways but looked at me wide-​eyed and snickering, and this kid with a big dancing bag kept staring but he looked like he was done already at the till so I thought he liked me or something. I thought everybody was weird. That shop lady was standing by me close so I let her by but she said it was okay.
The whole set-​up was making me nervous, so I checked the shelves by the door again, getting around the shop lady, to see that they were out of lemons. I knew all that was left was onions and apples, but they sounded so good in the Coronas. I got back in line with all the people looking and the line hadn’t moved. The shop keeper apologized to the guy holding money, and told me I could put the bag on the counter. I thought a heavy bag seemed like a low priority. He kept urging me to do it, and told the guy in front of me not to do it with his things, so I reached over the guy and did, and all the bottles clanged over inside.
He let the kid out and told the woman to list what was inside the bag, but she didn’t understand– so he looked in the bag and had her get the door. I was catching on, of course. They tallied what I had and I gave them my chip card. He told me how I should not put things in a bag, that I should use a basket while shopping. I said «Oh, baskets!» like I was delighted with the idea, in an exaggerated American accent, «Sorry about that.»
The shop lady wanted me to enter my code while he rang up the other people in line, so I had to reach over them to type it in. The cord laid over the arm of the smirking lady. He told me how otherwise people in shops would think I was stealing things, if I put them in baskets. «Oh!», I said, as if hearing something from a tour guide about some war I never heard of. The lady gave me my receipt and card back. She was mad, so she told me how putting things in a bag makes it look like I’m stealing, and that I need to use a basket because if I put things in a bag, people will think I’m stealing. The sentence mirrored itself like that, from the middle. I tried to let them feel they were making a big change in me. I clearly loved baskets, the way I reacted; I couldn’t wait to use baskets.
The shop owner let me out the door, a told me indulgently how every where I go, not just this place but every shop, I should get a basket and put my things in them (he pantomimed a little). «A basket!» I said like I wanted to ride around in one in my best clean shirt. Then, he said: I should take the things, pay for them (big smile, nod), then put them in my bag! Otherwise they might think I was stealing and call the police. I tried to look concerned, but more like I was hearing a story about some poor stranger, «Well, I apologize.»
I walked back through a university dorm block and wondered if I looked like a creep.