No use crying over spilt milk

by Joanne Macias

A bottle of milk. 

I never thought that a simple bottle of milk would be the reason for my undoing. Even though I did nothing wrong. 

Why did I have to get the milk now? Why couldn’t I have waited until Jerry finished work? All because I hated black coffee. Now, I was stuck at the station, waiting for my close-up – ahh, I mean mug shot and interview. It was taking far too long for my liking, but that’s because the cops decided to arrest everyone, not just the main suspects. 

The wait made me think about which thing I feared most – being charged with a crime I didn’t commit, or having Jerry constantly reminding me that he was right. At that moment, I shuddered at the realisation of even something worse. His Dad jokes. 

Let me explain how I got into this mess, from the start. 

We were the new family in the neighbourhood. Still trying to figure out the good and the bad parts of the city. So much so, Jerry warned me to not go out without him– at least in the early stages. We never knew if one of us would get into trouble. I thought he was being melodramatic. Guess that was mistake #1. 

Jerry always reminded me that as much as he loved my sensitive side, he knew I was a trusting soul: Possibly too trusting. He feared I would be Miss bleeding heart, getting emotional over something I shouldn’t, that would set me up to fail. Personally, I thought it wasn’t true. However, he was right again. Guess that was mistake #2.

The trip to the shop was meant to be quick. Get in, grab the bottle of milk, and then head back home to have that coffee. I had done this before, and I thought it would be no different today. Walking to the fridge, I scanned all the options before me – full fat, skim, soy, oat and almond. I even contemplated some of the other options today, grabbing two bottles at a time to compare nutritional facts, thus dragging out the time at the shop … Hearing a commotion, deciding between skim and almond had seemed like the least of my worries. I quickly put the two milk bottles back, and tried to see what was going on– and if there was any way in which I could help. 

Making my way to the noise, my heart broke over what I saw. Watching from a distance, I saw a grandma hunched over her trolley, staring at its contents. I had overheard her complaining about how she was struggling with being able to figure out how to pay for her groceries? I didn’t see the red flags at that point, which I obviously now realised were being waved in my face. 

This had all occurred after she finished her shop– but just before she was to head to the registers. I watched as she had moved around her trolley, looking sadly at the items that were previously meticulously placed in the cart, deciding what could stay and what would need to go. I knew I couldn’t stand to see a defenceless grandma go without, so I went over to try and help. I placed my basket which had my handbag in it on the floor behind me. We started chatting, and I discovered quite quickly that she was quite charismatic. 

Drawn into each word she said, I didn’t notice what else was going on in the background. I sensed that there were people around us, but as we were in a grocery store, I didn’t think it was anything suspicious. I tried to convince her to let me help with a few items. Every time I went to walk away to grab an item however, she tried to regain my attention, grabbing my forearm to stop me, and telling me she was ‘so lonely’, and I was ‘really lovely’. 

Feeling that if I walked away, she would cause a scene, so I reluctantly stayed. I didn’t want to cause her more unnecessary distress. I did notice in the corner of my eye however; people were beginning to disperse. As the grandma was becoming clingier, I was not able to spend more than two seconds looking away from her in trying to figure out what was happening; because any time I tried, the wailing ‘oh I’m so lonely’ would begin again. I could feel my own anxiety rising, but I wasn’t sure the reason why. I wanted to get away but didn’t know how. I occasionally saw staff walking around, taking a glance at the interaction, then walking away. I wanted them to engage, but they did not, even when I tried to initiate eye contact with them to save me. 

Suddenly, I noticed flashing lights out the front. I looked towards the front windows to see if I could figure out what was going on. As I did that, the flashing lights had bounced off my glasses. Grandma must have gotten spooked – now having had magically developed superhuman speed and disappeared from sight. Unsure where to look next, and still struggling to think about what was happening in front of me, there was a flurry of cops that rushed into the store, surrounding me, demanding to see inside my handbag: My heart was racing, worried that I was in trouble: I just didn’t know what for?! 

There was nothing inside my bag besides my wallet, so I stepped back to my handbag, which was still sitting in the basket that was a few steps behind me and opened the bag to collect my wallet. Well, I thought that’s what was in there: My wallet – gone. ID – gone. Credit cards – gone. In its place, 3 bananas, 5 chocolate bars and a packet of cutthroat razor blades. It was obvious that whoever did it, they’d tried to match the weight of my wallet. Feeling my heart race, I now knew I was in trouble. Quite possibly in serious trouble. I knew I needed a clean record for work, so I was scared that my life as I knew it was over. Nothing I said made them listen. I tried to be logical, I tried pleading, and when those attempts failed – the hyperventilating tears came out. I was instructed to exit the store, ushered into the paddy wagon, along with a few other shoppers– all to be taken to the police station.

So, that’s why I was stuck at the station! Still waiting to be processed, only then did it hit me. Feeling overwhelmed, I started crying: Arrested for a crime I didn’t commit, and I still hadn’t even had my coffee. 

Head buried in my hands; I began to hear a commotion. My head raised up, wanting to see what was going on. My curiosity got the best of me, even though that’s what got me in this mess in the first place.

“It wasn’t me! It’s a mistake! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!”

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me all about it when we get into the interview room.”

Their face dropped, realising it was all over. Inspecting their finer details, I realised who they were. That’s when I realised this was all a targeted attack. Once they were inside the room, I got up, wanting to speak with one of the officers at their desk. Tears still running down my cheeks, I needed to get the newly realised information off my chest. 

“Excu..excuse me?”

“Please take a seat. You can speak to the officer soon.” 

“But, but the person who just walked into the interview room…”

“SIT. NOW.”

Startled at how abrupt the cop was, I needed a moment to recompose myself, taking a breath before turning around and taking my seat.  

That’s when I saw it. Jerry walked in – coffee in hand. I started to feel better, that was until he opened his mouth: 

“Come on Sandra, there’s no use crying over spilt milk.”