The Quest for a Dustpan and Broom

Marks & Spencer is a big department store chain in the UK along the lines of Macy’s except that they have launched a series of food outlets. Not far from Rebecca’s apartment is Paddington Station and inside the station is a mini shopping mall called The Lawn. There are two food stores there, one is a more traditional food market called Sainsbury’s and the other is a Marks & Spencer Simply Food Store. What’s notable about the M&S store is that just about everything is a pre-packaged meal. Even the stuff that’s not a prepared meal is wrapped in some kind of plastic. But their specialty is this meal on the go for those that want others to cut, dice and slice. It’s the ultimate TV dinner store. They advertise for example a meal for two that’s less than 10 British Pounds including wine. Long lines of commuters stop off at the store to pick up dinner. It’s a plastic wrapped smorgasbord of international cuisine from moussaka to tandoori and everything in between. I was inexorably drawn in, filling my hand basket with things irresistibly ready to heat and serve.

My mission however was to find a dust pan and broom and I cruised the M&S thinking they might have a neat little cleaning kit, you know, pre-packaged. After all, eating requires cleaning up under most circumstances. Unfortunately as the sign says “Simply Food” it really means that. So I walked up to a gentleman who was standing at the entrance. He was wearing a uniform and appeared to be something of a security guard for the M&S store. He was not very tall but had an unusually long dark beard and one wandering eye. “Edgeware Road” he said in response to my inquiry about a broom and dustpan.

That’s a 15 minute walk and out of my way I thought to myself. Should I trust this guy? His cryptic answer to my question led me to believe otherwise but then I realized he was probably telling me that M&S store on Edgeware Road would have it. I walked up to the check out and repeated my question to the cashier and got the same response “Edgeware Road” so it must be true I thought.

One thing you quickly learn in London is that everything costs extra. Things that we take for granted in the US free of charge like water or bread at a restaurant will cost you. I had to pay 5p for each plastic bag to carry all my plastic wrapped food that I bought and slugged out of M&S passing the Boot’s Pharmacy and the Sainsbury thinking I should check them out for the broom and dustpan. The weight of carrying my plastic bags, two on each hand to keep things in balance, rolled my shoulders into an apelike stance and I thought better of trying to add to my burden. I headed back to the apartment.

Look right, then left, I muttered to myself as I crossed the first intersection. The one thing most disorienting in London is the opposite direction traffic is going. It’s like looking in your rearview mirror all the time. One hears stories of out-of -towners plucked off the road by a passing taxi or bus. The evidence is visible at most crossings with the words “Look right” with an arrow and “look left” with an arrow painted right there on the curb. I am compelled each time to read these warnings in fear of ending up at the nearby St. Mary’s Hospital.

I had this route which avoided as many street crossings as possible and took advantage of a one-way street that required only a singular look left. It necessitated however passing a Burger King and Kentucky Fried Chicken paired together side by side like two beacons of American culture. The thought made me feel self conscious. My shorts and Hawaiian shirt were dead giveaways. As I get older it seems I can no longer blend into looking like a native unless it’s of course back home. Just then a woman rolling a suitcase out of Paddington approached me for directions to the Hilton. She had a heavy East European accent. Carrying grocery bags she said gave her the impression I lived nearby. I happily pointed out the Hilton right behind her and found a bounce in my step as I passed the Pub at Paddington Station. The usual array of London drunks were out in front intermingling with the tourists. I felt for my wallet in a wily acrobatic move, which I now kept in my front pocket since Rebecca’s purse was stolen, and continued down Praed which turns into Craven past the two Italian restaurants, pastry shop, the Spanish tourist office, the “Cheap Bed and Breakfast”, the wine shop and a souvenir store and money exchange. I waved hello at the wine shop clerk where I routinely picked up a bottle of London Pride. Thinking dustpan and broom again, it dawned on me that there was a little hardware store on Craven two blocks past Westbourne Terrace near the Mitre Pub where Rebecca got robbed.

When I dropped off the groceries, JJ was lost in BBC 1,2,3 or 4 in a buzz of talk and game shows interspersed with news and weather. The weather was forecasting the usual partly cloudy, rain and sunshine. Ever since the stolen purse incident our 14 year old son was content to watch British Television even though he was limited to a handful of stations. If the TV world was ok, the real world might be easier to re-enter. I was not helping matters getting lost with my constant wanderings around town. He was resting on his makeshift bed out of the couch cushions and I was reminded of the need to buy an airbed.  Do you want to go out? No. Come on, let’s go out. No. Ok I’ll be back in a bit. I’m hungry he said. What’d you get? As I put the food away I looked down at the wood floor with specks of crumbs and said I would make him something when I got back; won’t be long.

Out the massive black door of the building to a blue sky (look right, look left) to the hardware store, I passed a street sweeper with a rolling garbage can and tools of the trade. I took it as a sign that I was about to fulfill my mission. These sweepers are everywhere and London streets are spotless. I moved quickly passed the Lebanese and Indian Restaurants, a couple of hotels and corner groceries. There it was, I hadn’t imagined it, a hardware store. A skinny shop keeper with a massive head of hair, about my age, said in a high pitched foreign accent, “Right this way,” and led me to an assortment of cleaning devices, cleansers and what I was looking for…a neat little packaged stand up dustpan and broom that clipped together and was short enough to store in the cabinet at the apartment. You wouldn’t know where I might find an airbed, I asked pushing my luck. “That would be over here.” She pulled open a step ladder ascended to the top rung and in a single motion placed one foot on the window seal and lifted a box off the top shelf. “Double or single” she said. Uh double, yes, double will do.

Just then a woman walked in and excitedly explained that their guests had been robbed, her woman friend had lost everything that was in her purse, her passport, credit cards, everything she explained. I watched the shopkeeper teeter slightly and I said “I’ll take that,” reaching for the airbed in a box. I was about to join the conversation when the thought of getting back to feed JJ entered my mind and I paid for my wares and left.

The sunshine was gone again and as I made my way back it began to drizzle. JJ buzzed me in. The TV blared. Can you turn it down a little? I switched on the oven and tested out the broom and dustpan as JJ blew up the bed. We watched the Super Nanny expertly put a family’s life in order. I stuck an “American style” pepperoni pizza from the M&S in the oven. Everything here in London was clean, neatly wrapped, ready to serve but no matter how efficient things seem, it’s hard not to worry a little about what lies beneath the surface.