Lynchian: First Time in Aldi.
What better way to explore what the experience of seeing something that is bland for the first time than through the eyes of David Lynch
Everyday routine. Flat 43, Brunswick Square. There's the worn-out red carpet, the creaky staircase. Familiar monotony of life, morning to night, one step in front of the other. Morning coffee, the bitter taste always the same, always comforting. Trudge down the seaside promenade. Gulls squawk, waves crash. Always the same. Same sights, same sounds, Brighton's salt in the air.
But today, there's something new.
There's a building I've never seen before. No, not new, but unseen. It's been hiding, a chameleon in a concrete jungle. A sign, 'Aldi', unassuming, modest, hanging over the entrance. Intrigue seizes me; curiosity pulls me like a marionette on unseen strings. This Aldi, it is an enigma wrapped in brick and mortar, a labyrinth of unknown that begs for exploration.
Suddenly, I find myself standing before the automated doors. They part with an alien sigh, a mechanized gesture of welcome, a curtain rising on an alien stage. And I, unversed, unknowing, cross the threshold into an unknown land of glaring lights and polished linoleum.
Rows upon rows, aisles carved out of towering walls filled with colours. Bright, eye-catching, dancing under the artificial sunlight. It's as if I've walked into a technicolour dream, a rainbow frozen in time and space, its myriad hues trapped in boxes and cans and packets. Their surfaces, slick and smooth under the touch, carry foreign symbols and insignia, branded hieroglyphics of a civilisation unknown.
"Ambrosia Devon Custard," I read aloud, the words foreign and exotic on my tongue. My fingers trace the cylindrical can's curve, the chill metal awakening a sensory euphoria akin to the sweet caress of a winter breeze.
"First time, love?" An older woman pushes her trolley past me, her gaze curious, bemused.
"Indeed," I reply, my eyes still devouring the wealth of vibrant novelty around me. "It's as if I've discovered an undiscovered country, a realm teeming with new life."
She chuckles, the sound rich, warm, like a piece of dark chocolate melting on your tongue. "Just shopping, darling. Wait till you see the chocolate aisle."
And oh, the chocolate aisle. It's like diving into a midnight sea, each packet a star twinkling amidst the inky depth. Row upon row of 'Dairyfine' and 'Moser Roth', the words tumbling off my tongue, each syllable a testament to the exotic, unknown delights wrapped within.
The tantalising whiff of fresh baked bread lures me further into this foreign land. I follow the trail, entranced, as if under a pied piper's spell. I find myself standing before an array of bread, each different from the next. White, brown, seeded, crusty, baguettes, tiger bread, bagels – a cornucopia of textures, shapes and names that turn in a dizzying whirlwind of exhilaration in my mind.
A man in a green apron places a new loaf on the shelf. "First time here?" he asks, his smile kind and welcoming.
"I'm a voyager in an unknown land," I confess, my fingers dancing over the crinkly surface of a fresh baguette. "Each step reveals a treasure, each sight a revelation."
He laughs, the sound echoing off the aisles, filling the air with a hearty warmth. "Wait until you discover the cheese aisle."
Cheese! Oh, the cheese aisle! Blocks, slices, balls, and wheels, a plethora of shapes and sizes that beckon me. Cheddar, mozzarella, brie, camembert, names as varied and distinct as the products they represent. Each packet a journey into uncharted territory, a labyrinth of taste and texture waiting to be explored.
In the midst of this sensual explosion, I realise I'm breathing harder. My heart's a symphony that crescendos with each discovery. It's too much, too intense, and yet, not enough. It's like an awakening, an ignition of senses I never knew I possessed.
"Aldi's own, madam?" A young woman hands me a leaflet – 'Special buys'. It's filled with items, pictures, prices, an index to the marvels around me. "You get more for your money here."
"Money?" The word seems so mundane in this setting, a crude interruption in an otherwise ethereal experience. But she's right. I look around, a new realisation dawning on me. This place, this Aldi, it's a marketplace, a bazaar teeming with goods that are ripe for the picking.
"Thank you," I whisper, my eyes locked onto hers. I clutch the leaflet in my hand, holding it like a map. A map of this newfound territory, my newfound passion, a sanctuary of the unexplored and unknown in the heart of Brighton.
As I exit, the mechanical doors sighing shut behind me, I clutch my bag of newfound treasures. The seagulls squawk, the waves crash, the air carries the scent of the sea. The world outside is the same, and yet, not quite so. Because now, I carry within me a piece of the unknown, a slice of the new, a testament to the beauty and amazement of the mundane. Today, I walked into Aldi, an alien in an unknown land. Today, I walked out, a voyager who'd found her sea.