You nip into the supermarket near the bus stop after work for a bit of last minute shopping. There’s plenty of time, no rush.
You get Wine, a Weightwatchers curry and some fizzy water – you know it’s not strictly necessary but the water is a treat – and you take your basket to the checkouts.
Without thinking you join the shortest queue. Just three people ahead of you, in the fewer than 10 items lane. Be out of here in a couple of minute, no bother.
First woman deftly scoops up her vine-ripened tomatoes and frozen yogurt. No, she doesn’t need a bag or any stamps, thank you. She’s gone.
The second guy seems to exist on a diet of pot noodles and PG Tips, you can’t help noticing. And who buys four cans of deodorant? But he whizzes his purchases into a bag, pays by card, and is off home to spend more time with his his kettle.
You are now only one person away from getting out of here and away to an evening in front of the telly.
You observe him carefully placing each item on the moving belt. When his basket is empty and all his comestibles are lined up like ducks in a row you watch him dreamily walk to the business end of the checkout till. You watch him gaze at each item as it passes from the checkout guy’s hands, through the barcode reader, and slides down the aluminium incline to where he’s waiting. Just watching and waiting.
The assistant presses the button that does the maths. He turns and says, “That’ll be £8.67.”
The bloke emerges from a deep reverie and looks discombobulated. As if any idea of financial transaction were morally repugnant to him, just some devious innovation dreamed up by these grasping devils of corporate retail.
He unzips his battered rucksack and peers into it tentatively. You get the impression he expects to find a dodo egg busily hatching in its warm environs.
He locates a wallet. He pulls the cord of the rucksack shut and opens the velcro of the wallet. You watch him fingering a fiver and some 50p pieces before he extracts a clutch of notes and coinage.
He drops the legal tender onto the bagging area and begins meticulously to slide money towards the assistant.
You can see the concentration on his face.
You mark the exasperation on the assistant’s face.
When he finishes counting he picks up exactly £8.67 and hands it to the assistant. He scoops up the shrapnel and teams it into a pocket of the wallet. He seals the wallet, tugs open the rucksack, replaces the wallet and pulls the cord of the rucksack tight again.
The assistant politely notices that one of the pound coins is in fact Canadian currency.
The bloke takes back the North American copper reluctantly. You watch him open the rucksack and begin to rummage. Despite the fact that he had the wallet in his clutches no more than five seconds ago it appears the damned thing is lost.
You begin to wonder if the dodo has eaten it.
You watch as a biscuit tin, a yarn of multicoloured wool, a dog collar and library book are placed on the bagging area.
The wallet was beneath the biscuit tin. It was safe all along.
He puts the wallet onto the bagging area and replaces the other items.
He yanks the cord of the rucksack shut. He unsnaps the wallet and searches for the correct coins. He hands over two bright and shiny 50ps. He folds the wallet. He puts the wallet down on the baggage area and picks up the rucksack. He opens the rucksack, picks up the wallet, and places it deep inside.
You hear the assistant slam the till shut. You watch him hand over a receipt with a fixed smile. All that has to happen now is that the bloke starts to pack up his shopping.
You watch the bloke survey the assortment of goods now clogging up the bagging area.
“I need a carrier bag?”
“That’ll be 10p, please.”
The bloke reaches for the rucksack…
You know you have missed the bus.
Very clever Phil but you don’t fool me for a second.
The timing of your latest piece of intimate reportage gives the game away. Isn’t this the time of year that the various art colleges in Leeds have their degree shows?
Mundane accident certainly not – what is going on here is clearly a piece of performance where the artist intervenes playfully to disrupt the flow of everyday life or to highlight some social issue in this case perhaps societal reaction to people with dementia. Perhaps some element of disguise, prosthetics or make up by the performer/artist was involved which would add to the piece’s construction.
The work will be documented via the store’s CCTV footage of the event and replayed at the degree show with the artist in attendance in their creative costume as a living sculpture.
Now we have established the facts of what was really going we need come to the critical question of collaboration. Now Phil what was your role here?
I refuse to believe you simply an innocent observer simply giving your immediate response.
No, much more likely you were in on act from the start. Contacted by the artist in advance, your written piece is part of the art work itself and your text will be part of the overall final exhibited installation.
Possibly you also recorded the reaction of other “queueurs” by means of head cam or phone – again at the artist’s request.
Now I am also beginning to suspect there is a bigger picture here. With all these texts and images of everyday life you have produced over the years. You are building up quite a respectable portfolio.
Looking into the future, I see where this is all going.
I refer to the catalogue of the exhibition “Celebrating Leeds Everyday” held at the Tatley Centre for Contemporary Art, 1st Jan 2023, Leeds South Bank Car Park. It reads “Kirby Phil: “The Shock of the Banal” – 120 photographs, video, e-prints, typewritten paper on board, dimensions of installation variable, accompanied by performance”.
You don’t know just how close you are to the truth, Mr Sour. Are you psychic?