Teenage Shame

“You’d be beautiful if you lost weight.” the stranger said.

He was standing too close to me in the queue. I could feel his eyes on me. He was tall, double my age. His blue checked shirt strained against his stomach. He wore black lace-up shoes with faded blue jeans. A cloud of stale alcohol clung to him. I didn’t look at his face, but I imagined he’d have squinty bloodshot eyes.

The fluorescent overhead lights left nowhere to hide. Condensation ran down the inside of the window. A blue neon ‘open’ light flashed out into the night sky. A few lonely, pickled eggs floated in a big jar on the counter. I felt sick. I could see my bright red cheeks in the reflection of the stainless-steel warming cabinet. I was frozen.

Hot fat bubbled away behind the counter mirroring the deep shame rising inside me. A dead fly lay on its back on the corner of the counter.

“Do you want salt and vinegar on?” the guy behind the counter said. “yes please” I said.

My appetite gone. I picked up my chips and the huge weight of my teenage shame and walked out into the cold street.