Bye-Bye, Critic

One of the perks of working from home is being able to run errands in the middle of the day. Unfortunately, this patch of hipster London is without a Boots, so I usually pop into a local chemists when I need toothpaste or soap. My shopping trip today proved a touch verbose. I edged around an elderly lady testing lipsticks just inside the door of the shop. The Turkish man came from behind the counter to arrange a pile of gauze bandages.

“Do you require help, sir?”

“No, just getting a few things.”

“As long as you keep buying you can stay all day.”

I quickly found what I wanted and spread the items out on the already cluttered counter. The man looked at me over the rims of his reading glasses.

“That is a rather thick book you have there.”

“Yes, it’s really good.”

“The Historian. Kostova - good name. You look like a writer yourself.”

In corduroy trousers, loosely-fitting white shirt, black jacket, shaved head and a stubbly chin I suppose I did look a bit literary. No patches graced my elbows, though - or is that an academic’s ensemble?

“Well, actually I have written film reviews, but that was a long time ago.”

“Really? Ah.” He rolled his eyes back and yanked some ideas from out of the back of his brain.

“So I was watching on the television this awards show. How is that done exactly? How do they pick the films?”

“I’m sure it’s a bunch of people in a room.”

“Is it just one critic? Or do they ask the public. They can do such things, you know on the Internet. We can all vote.”

“Maybe.”

“I knew it, probably just one person’s opinion. Worthless. I want to know what other people think, not just a critic.”

“Well, it is rather limited.”

“Did you have anything to do with that show? What is the name …”

“Me? Oh no. No, no, no. I used to write for print magazines.”

“Ah, you’re a freelancer. A freelancer critic.”

With an upturned lower lip, he spat out the final word at the end of each of his sentences.

“Yes.”

“Those critics can destroy things. Just one person and their opinion.”

I handed him my debit card and he prepared the card reader.

“Critics can cut the throat of things - plays, movies.”

He offered me the keypad as if it were a knife.

“Yes, um …”

I tapped the numbers of my PIN code into the keypad.

“Ah, perhaps you’re one of those critics that sticks the knife in?”

“Me? No, well I just try and be fair.”

“Right.”

He edged away from me, extended his arm and returned my card, the receipt and the bag with my purchases.

“Ah, well, thanks. Enjoy the day.”

“Yes, bye-bye critic.”