It seemed that every time Rowena went into Monoprix, something scandalous and/or embarrassing happened. Whether it involved her being unaware that her nipple was out and she couldn’t understand why the men in the place were ogling her or she walked in only to immediately trip on her own shoe, Rowena was beginning to think there was a curse on her outings to Monoprix.

And yet, despite this ostensible curse and despite how much more expensive Monoprix was compared to every other grocery store, she couldn’t stop herself from continuing to frequent it. Almost as if it had an invisible pull. Today was no exception. Today was also a particularly hot temperature in Paris—which was really saying something. Nonetheless, it didn’t stop the masses from coming out in droves. Because, strangely, the hotter it was, the more people felt obliged to join together en masse in the public space. Almost like they wanted to get even hotter.

Rowena supposed she was no less guilty. And yet, she still had it in her mind that she was the only one with a truly legitimate reason to be out. Because who the fuck were these other people daring to have social engagements or money-making opportunities (generally the only reasons that anyone bothered going out)? Worse still, merely being “out and about” just for “the sake of it.” Rowena was only out due to that money-making category. A.k.a. her job.

She had been one of the only ones at work who volunteered to stay during the abyssal weeks of August, agreeing to instead take some time off in September, when most people were back for the rentrée. She didn’t mind, really. However, what she did mind was her theoretically peaceful August time being shat upon by these “extras” with the audacity to overrun Paris during this month. Some were tourists, of course, but not all of them. Not as it would have been the case in the past. No, something had shifted in the couple of years since the Olympics. Maybe the fact that tourists were being off-put by the blazing hot temperatures had something to do with it.

Indeed, June had already marked the hottest recorded temperature in Paris’ history (not to mention the rest of France, with the south literally burning all the more). And while things had “cooled” slightly since then, it wasn’t by much. Still felt like an instant sweat bath whenever one stepped outside. Or even stayed inside, seeing as how only the few (the elite) had air conditioning. A modern convenience that France would likely never come around to no matter how boiling it got.

In any case, this—the sweltering heat—was the main reason Rowena had felt obliged to stop into the Monoprix that morning before dragging herself to work: she absolutely had to get a bottle of water. Cold—straight from the refrigerator. The bottle she had preemptively packed was already tepid and half-empty thanks to drinking a lot of it over the course of the fifteen-minute walk to her metro stop, followed by the twenty-minute train ride itself. So it was that she was sweating bullets, parched and peak “over it” by the time she entered Monoprix.

Alas, it was her flustered, generally bothered state that must have caused her to drop her backpack, which abruptly slid right off the lone shoulder she was carrying it on, landing on the floor with a violent thud. That thud being her bottle of water, made out of aluminum rather than plastic. But it didn’t matter how “sturdy” the bottle should have been since, evidently, the way the cap hit floor through the fabric, it had caused the remaining water inside to explode forth. Because, clearly, even aluminum wasn’t immune to the impact of a fall like this (in fact, the bottle was so dented at the top that the cap couldn’t even be screwed back on, so Rowena ended up throwing it away). And even though only half of the water was left, it was enough to make a huge mess and spectacle right at the entrance to Monoprix.

So, as it turned out, now Rowena couldn’t get very far through the doors of a Monoprix without attracting unwanted attention to herself. What exactly was this unique and vexing curse that had been placed upon all her interactions with this store? She had no time to ponder it too deeply as the security guard rushed over to help her remove all of her imperiled things from the backpack: a book (The Second Sex), a journal and, most importantly, her wallet…filled with plenty of non-waterproof identification. Namely, a passport, a driver’s license, a social security card and an insurance card.

But it was too late. Everything, unfortunately, was sodden in one way or another before the removal, quick and dexterous as it was with the help of the security guard. Yet his assistance wasn’t enough to prevent the watery fate of her prized paper-based items. What’s more, the water had somehow managed to create a massive puddle on the floor, even though Rowena didn’t think there had been that much left inside of the bottle to constitute what looked like such a large spill.

As she juggled her various personal effects with the semi-soaked backpack, the security guard had summoned another associate to clean up the river before someone walked in and slipped, which would be the last thing Rowena needed to add to her guilt and embarrassment quotient. Rowena did find it odd, however, that rather than bringing a mop to resolve the issue, the woman wearing a Monoprix “uniform” (which was just a shirt that said “Monoprix” on it) chose to come “armed” with a huge wad of paper towels. And she made no bones about glaring at Rowena as she kneeled down to clean the mess that, in her eyes, this customer had created solely due to carelessness and incompetence. Maybe she wasn’t wrong.

Obviously, if Rowena hadn’t planned on buying something before, she certainly felt obligated to now. Perhaps even something more than water to overcompensate. She made the bold move of asking the “regular” employee for a wad of her paper towels before flashing a final look of contrition at both her and the security guard. Rowena then skittered over to an unmanned cash register area where she could set her things down on the counter, sort through them and generally get her bearings again. Using one of the paper towel bunches to place at the bottom of her backpack, whose material was surprisingly absorbent and quick-drying, Rowena proceeded to methodically stack and arrange her items into the bag in such a way so that there was enough strategic and equitable paper towel distribution to mitigate the dampness.

Having dealt with that situation, Rowena, realizing she was going to be late for work because of this little “detour,” rushed over to the refrigerator section to grab the water that had beckoned her here in the first place. After paying for it and opening the cap so that she could drink of the cold, refreshing bounty, she started to walk out the opposite side of the shop where the exit was. On her way out, for good measure, she failed to notice that there was a subtle but damning fold in the center of the floor mat, causing her to trip (though at least this time, not over her own shoe) and spill the rest of the water from her latest bottle, whose cap she had not put back on as she was still drinking from it.

On the plus side, her entire body had been doused, which, one could argue, acted as a “natural” “cooling agent.” And besides, two minutes of being out in the sun walking to work and she would be dry again (from the water, not her sweat). Even so, Rowena figured it would be best for everyone if she didn’t try to shop at a Monoprix for a while. The risk was becoming greater and greater every time she went in, it seemed.