In the 90s, as a teenager, I worked in the bakery section of a big supermarket. The city’s mental hospital was just across the road.
An older lady used to come in every day, both mid morning and mid afternoon. Everyone in the store knew her.
She’d been institutionalised in her teens for being at risk of a teenage pregnancy, her dad had her committed. She was now so institutionalised there was no way she could live on her own, so she was still living in the hospital, 50+ years later.
She was obviously never going to be any harm to anyone, so she was allowed to pretty much come and go as she pleased during the day. So every morning and afternoon she went for a walk, came to visit the store and wander round. She also used to visit the swings in the little children’s park just along the road.
She really took a shine to one of my bakery colleagues who started about the same time as me, and used to follow her round a little bit, surreptitiously when my colleague was out stacking the bakery shelves. My colleague would try to talk to her when she did that but she was too shy and she would run and hide behind a set of shelves. So eventually it just became an exchange of smiles and she was comfortable with that.
She’d get a roll every morning and a cake every afternoon. She never said anything, she would just point through the display case at what she wanted.
Whenever she came up we would just serve her first, no matter how long the queue was. We always used to price them as a penny and the people on the checkout always used to pretend the label wouldn’t’t scan when she went through the tills and just let her have it.
it was heartbreaking, she’d been in that hospital for so long.