They say your priorities miraculously fall into place when you are near death. Just another of those myths, I think.
When the store attendant came up to me yesterday, and politely told me to leave the store because they were closing down, my first reaction was, “Okay, let me just pick up a packet of cereals, then I am ready to checkout.”
“Madam, it is for your safety that we are asking you to vacate the store.” He polite but firm.
“Fine, I’ll just pay for this stuff and then leave.”
“Madam, here is no time for billing. We need to vacate the premises immediately.”
The message finally sunk in, and I very reluctantly abandoned by shopping cart and walked towards the exit. My thoughts were full of how I could schedule in another visit to the supermarket in a week that promised to be mega busy, and if I could somehow manage to drag on till weekend on limited provisions.
It was only when I reached the escalator and joined the crowd waiting to get onto it, that I realized what a bomb scare could really mean to me. The bomb squad would hopefully be able to locate and diffuse the bomb, if it ever existed, but what if the bomb should go off when I was still in the building?
My concerns were purely practical. I had my mobile on me, but hubby’s number was keyed in under his name. If something happened to me, how would a stranger be able to figure out which of the hundred odd contacts on the phone was that of the father of my kids?
I should have been thinking of how my kids would cope if something happened to the mother they were so emotionally dependent upon, but I was dumb procedural stuff that the brain was processing. If I were in hospital and the phone had been destroyed, would I be able to get in touch with the hubby in time for him to be able to pick the kids up from the Daycare?
I contemplated calling up the hubby to tell him where I was, so he would know I was caught at a bomb site, should the bomb go off. But before I could make up my mind, I was out of the building and in an auto.
Was it that I was never really convinced that I was in much danger? Or is it that I am incapable of grand thoughts? I suspect the former.
But one good thing did come out of it all – I have now saved the hubby’s number under A-Emergency Contact.