monday morning during the singularity

Monday, at the coop in the village, on lower road, at the bottom of the hill, in the valley. There is no river anymore it was rerouted many years ago. The woman behind the desk, selling alcohol and other drugs accepted the the parcels of books for despatch. There are two young men moving goods onto the shelves for resale from the warehouse. A man in his fifties is putting out vegetables and fruit onto shelves by the door from the familiar metal cages on wheels.. A few customers are streaming into the shop, women and men with shopping baskets. Some are greeted by name by the older staff members. They say,”good morning more to post?” Yes i say, that’s right. I wonder standing in the queue waiting for them to accept the small parcel and give me the paper receipt how long it takes to be recognised and accepted as a regular customer. I am after all a pretty regular customer. They do no expect to engage in conversation, a question, a few acknowledgements, a feint smile Even more established customers find that the process is no different. Indifference and alienation, does this place them inside the crisis of being consumers rather than being a person? Time is not taken over the choices they make, the customer imagines as they look over the different consumptive objects and then assuming the woman behind the counter wants to speak “Thankyou”. Is this the commons or the thick layer of consumerism that has supplanted it? But before she say “Thankyou” you hand her the shopping basket, ask for some additional things you could not find. She responds in a soft mid-scottish-atlantic drawl, a dreamy eroticism touches your unconscious — a poem of domestic life, words played with a abstract satisfaction, your exchange touched with too many images — some meat and pieces of pineapple, money is exchanged through the phone, the loyalty card is registered, points added, are they happy to be paid? all sides of the exchange are alienated. I am amused by the idea that my social status is on display with the goods I have bought, we consume, our ability to exist in this society is shown. Behind me in the queue a middle aged woman with her young son is discussing the things he needs, he is going away for a night or two. Unconsciously they demonstrate their wealth. They move over to the automated payment system and have a complex conversation about the workings of the system on the network. It beeps and pings. A deeply symbolic exchange is taking place here, from the objects being consumed, convivial? the silence of the machines, the familial structures, the last mean this evening before he goes away. Around them, behind them the young and the lonely feel ill at ease. A police is standing in the doorway looking both socially and economically inadequate as it looks at me walking out the door onto the street….