What trials a phobic goes through, Just to get through one more day, To function in the outside world, With so many obstacles in their way. They have to know where the exits are, While shopping at the stores, The first thing that a phobic does, Is check out all the doors. A 'Fire Exit Only' sign, Can put their fears at ease, For if they must leave in a hurry, Through a keyhole I'm sure they'd squeeze. Escalators can throw them off, As they cautiously place their feet, From bottom to top - it seems like miles, But they hang on 'til the run's complete. But the one thing that can raise my fears, And cause me great self-doubt, Is when I've finished my shopping, And head for the nearest checkout. Now...maybe you haven't noticed, What happens when you head that way, But phobics, take note, be there a lineup or not, Be prepared for a lengthy stay. If I'm fortunate enough to be first in line, I can feel the tension draining, But then I notice, and my spirits dip, There's a new girl there...in training. She is so slow...she makes mistakes, While you stand there and sweat, You try to be understanding, But you haven't reached that stage...yet. You may think this only happens, Maybe once or twice a year, but I'm speaking from experience, And I want to make this clear. Never have I been at a checkout, Where things went without a hitch, The tapes run out...they're short of cash, I stand there and I twitch. Sometimes I can't believe it, Is there a Power up on high, Who puts these obstacles in my way, To test me...and if so...why? For you can be certain that the shopper ahead, Will have to write a cheque, Or present a Visa or Mastercard, While I wait there...a total wreck. Maybe you're thinking I'm paranoid, To be thinking along those lines, But it can't be just coincidence, It has happened too many times. That innocent looking checkout... I'm sure can spot me a mile away, And right then and there, it will decide, What tortures to throw my way. Will it be a price check? Or will the power fail? Whatever it is, my legs will shake, And my face will visibly pale. Someday...and this is certain, I'll make those checkouts pay, For causing me such great distress, For ruining a perfect day. And if checkouts can have a phobia, I hope with my last breath, That the ones I've come in contact with, Will meet an untimely death. I hope they're stuffed so full of cash, That they'll have trouble breathing, And I hope their tapes get twisted, So their insides will start heaving. And maybe if my dreams come true, One day they'll overheat, And spew their parts all over the place, Now...wouldn't that be neat? So phobics, don't think I'm imagining things, I tell you this, and it's true, There's an agoraphobic's checkout, Out there waiting...JUST FOR YOU! by Eileen Power © copyright1988