Im a pensioner while selling my warm pretzels today, someone tried to con me.
I stood at my little stand, just as I do every morning at the corner of Walton Lane and Church Street, the steam rising from a fresh tray of golden pretzels, when two men strolled over. Smartly dressed, they were proper suits, crisp shirts, even shiny leather briefcases. The sort of men the neighbours would call gentlemen, but there was a glint in their eyes I recognised as trouble.
Good morning, madam, said one, flashing a salesmans smile the slick kind that comes with a lie tucked under his tongue. Are you the owner of this stall?
Thats me, love. Would you fancy a pretzel? Just out the oven, nice and hot.
No, thats not why were here. You see, your stall is situated in a high-value commercial zone, and you need to sort out your documentation.
Thats when my warning bells started ringing. But I kept my face pleasant, pretending to be a bit dotty.
Oh, my dear, sort out If only I could sort out my own blood sugar. Diabetes, high blood pressure Why, just last week they told me my cholesterols through the roof. Do you have cholesterol? Let me tell you about all the pills theyve put me on
Madam, if youll just sign here he tried to cut me off.
Now, dont interrupt your elders, young man. Like I was saying, these pills have turned me into a balloon at the village fete. And my daughter, poor soul, shes getting divorced Her husband turned out to be a right wastrel, not unlike my late husband, may he rest in peace. Though to be honest, he was never much different when alive
The other man fidgeted, sweating as he pulled out a sheaf of papers.
Madam, this is about a fine five thousand pounds
Five thousand? Oh, duck, I barely scrape enough together for rent. Have you seen the price of gas these days? Or electricity? My youngest grandson wants to be a vet, bless him still at school, mind keeps telling me, Gran, dont use the boiler so much. But at my age, cold water wont do, my bones ache
Please, if you would just listen
No, you listen. Try standing out here day after day at sixty-eight, selling pretzels to keep the lights on. My pension barely covers the tablets, let alone supper. My joints burn like fire knees, wrists, neck Some nights, I cant close my eyes for the pain. But I get up, rain or shine, sleet or sun, because if I dont I go hungry. And now you tell me to pay five grand? Youll be carrying me out of here before you see a penny.
The two exchanged glances, starting to sweat through those fancy shirts.
Perhaps perhaps we could arrange for instalments
Instalments? I owe on instalments to the bank, to the chemist, even to Mrs. Middleton next door for my tooth. Do you know how much a tooth costs? Three thousand pounds! And thats at the NHS dentist, too!
They started gathering their papers, shuffling awkwardly.
But wait, I havent finished. My sisters on dialysis. You know what that means? Four hours, three times a week tied to a machine. Torture. The insurance doesnt cover it all we all chip in, the lot of us. From what I make selling pretzels, I send her £100 a month. And now you say fine? For what? My paperworks in order got council approval, registered, I pay my taxes not much, because I dont make much. Even got my health card on me. Would you like to see?
I pulled out my battered purse, stuffed full of notes and receipts.
Here! My licence is valid till next May, all stamped and proper. And which department did you say youre from again?
They started backing away towards the high street.
Oh, you didnt say? Thats odd. Because I may be a pensioner, but Im no fool. See, before I sold pretzels, I worked thirty-five years for the council right in the licensing office. I know exactly whos allowed to ask what, and let me tell you, a real inspector doesnt show up in cheap suits asking for cash without a receipt.
And one more thing theres a CCTV camera on the corner. And my son-in-laws a copper. He put me here because its safe. Want me to call him? Hes on patrol three streets over.
They nearly bolted before my eyes.
No, madam, theres theres been some mistake
Here, take some pretzels for the road! I shouted after them. So youll remember I hold no grudges!
A regular of mine was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.
You kept them talking for half an hour!
Well, half of what I said was nonsense. I dont have diabetes, my daughters fine, and my sisters healthy as a horse. These chancers think if youre old and broke, you must also be daft.
And the policeman son-in-law?
Hes real. Sos the camera. And the paperwork most of all. Because being poor is one thing but being stupid is quite another. I sell pretzels because pensions are a joke, not because I cant count.
I slid my usual pretzels with extra sugar across the counter and got on with my day.
So tell me, do you think poverty makes you vulnerable or does a bit of life experience and wit count for more than any fancy diploma?
