Sunday Shopping
It's 8:35 a.m. and I'm scarfing down a piece of toast and some scrambled eggs, looking repeatedly from my laptop screen to my written list to ensure I have everything requested on the email. Once the last crumb is consumed, it's a quick few steps to get ready for the store: shoes, a hat to cover my bedhead hair, mask and gloves. No time or need to brush my teeth until later; no one is going to see them anyway or smell my breath, because I'm aiming for 6 feet away throughout the shopping trip.
I've stopped taking my bags with me. They don't allow them in the store. In a kitchen drawer, the volume of plastic produce bags grows exponentially. A few months ago, I'd save them all, take some along with my reusable fabric produce bags, aiming for minimum plastic usage. Now I have no choice but to collect them and reuse them at home, however possible. Unzipping my wallet, I pull out just two items: my debit card and my ID, just in case, right? No cash for the checker to handle because I've gotta keep them safe too.
Driving down Glisan, en route to the Grant Park New Seasons, Joe asks me how I am. He's not used to me being so quiet. I share with him how this feels like going into battle, in a way, a singleminded sense of purpose: get through the store as conscientiously and with as little chance of any exposure to Covid-19 as possible. It reminds me of my days in Boot Camp, nearly 30 years ago, preparing for a barracks inspection. Make sure your bunk is perfect, blanket and pillow aligned exactly as it should be, seabag folded precisely as instructed, dungarees and work shirt with the proper placement-- the many little items opportunities for DSIT-- Division Sidewalk Intensive Training*. I did that once. It was not fun, but I'd take a week of those over getting this virus.
I'm shopping for a mentor and her family, friends of mine. This is not altruism in the slightest, this is my pure selfishness of wanting them to be around for a long time. I need them, my quasi-family, their steadfast support and love and great advice. I need her more than I need most people, this woman who opened her home, heart and family to me in a time when I was so lost. They are singular in my life and so I will take care shopping not to accidentally do anything which might expose them.
This is a short term/high stress situation for me. I know this going into the store. I didn't have to stand on one of the dots painted six feet apart on the sidewalk; Joe got me there in time and dropped me off before driving home to eat his own breakfast. The greeter at the door asks if I've been in lately. Behind my mask I nod, then walk over to the wall where a hand sanitizer dispenser waits. smearing the foamy fluff all over my hands, knowing that the second I touch the next item, the protection it provides is over. Pulling a sanitized cart out, a basket is placed inside to separate our families' groceries. I learned to do this after the first trip, when sorting things out of a big cart at the register and trying not to mix them up.
I slowly cruise into the produce section,which I now know fairly well. I'll pass the avocados first, and grab one before I make my rounds. Turning the plastic bags inside out carefully over my hand, using it like a glove to handle produce. I find a tomato but when I turn it over, it's squashed and queasy-looking at the top. I feel awful putting it back on the stand; the 'take what you touch' philosophy I'm practicing has been offended. In hindsight, I should have asked someone stocking the veg if they had a discard box for me to deposit it in. As more people come into the store, the produce section becomes more crowded and I wait patiently to move into vacant spaces to keep a safe distance. It is then that they appear, a couple, each with their own small cart, walking close to people, standing and talking, comparing--what? They have masks on but seem oblivious to staying the fuck away from me or anyone else. Yes, that expletive does enter my mind, and I decide that they are now The Careless Couple and I'm going to have to keep an eye on them.
As I try to leave that section of the store, here comes a familiar character, a big and tall younger guy, no mask, barreling directly at me. He's got a huge cart, no list, and the same 'get out of my way' look on his face that he did on previous Sundays. I feel targeted and try to move away, but then I'm going to be compromising others around me. Maybe on Wednesday when the store starts requiring masks, he'll go shop somewhere else. I can hope?
Make it to the meat counter; I ask for some ground turkey and stand back from the counter. Even the though the glass case is nearly taller than I am, I want to keep the man who weighs and packages my food safe.
I've got my list written in the order I walk through the store, and encounter Big and Tall Guy again. I turn my body toward the shelf as he barges past, inhaling before he comes close to me and then slowly exhaling as I walk up the aisle away from him. Does this really work or is this a harmless Jedi mind trick I'm using to calm myself? Does it matter? It feels like people are popping up at me and I'm having to assess safe/danger in each encounter. Before going back out onto a main aisle, I breathe. There's no one directly around me now, but I can spot the Careless Couple heading in the same direction I want to go and wait a beat. Yes, I am avoiding them like the plague. They go down an aisle I was hoping to visit, so I decide to go a different way and come back.
Over to the birthday cards. This is where my frustration and high alert take a backseat to a different feeling: a flood of warmth for a dearest friend who is celebrating her 50th in a few days. There's a hint of sadness that I can't take her out for dinner for a long while, but the card I choose reminds me of previous times and hopefully, times to come. It's a bit of a break from my diligent mission, a small island of feeling my breathing slow and I smile behind the purple fabric printed with Chinese Lanterns which she gave me long ago.
Back to my list, I'm trying to go down an aisle but there's a pregnant-out-to-here woman crouched down blocking my way, aiming her phone to look at the back of a bottle of oil. I wonder if she forgot her reading glasses at home and is trying to magnify the text. I remember the brain fog of pregnancy and wait passively for her to notice me. For the only time in this visit, I feel like this is a person who I can give a lot of grace to, who isn't being careless. Her mask is on, she's likely just as stressed as I am. She notices me, apologizes, and scoots over, then sways off. I go toward the shelf my desired items are on, but they are out of the raisins my friend requested and I can only grab one bag of walnut pieces-- the rest of them are pushed way to the back of a high shelf and there's no one around to assist. I now wonder in hindsight if I got almonds instead of walnuts, that's how hard focusing can be sometimes in that situation.
I make it through the rest of the store without any further worries, grabbing some focaccia on the way out. I've been trying to stick to eating only one piece of bread a day, per my healthier-eating diet I'm trying to maintain, but there's something so satisfying about that salty, olive oil and rosemary bread that I decide this will be my treat for the week. Besides, the ground turkey, chard and white bean soup I made the other day is low carb, so I can stay within range. I line up on the orange dots which lead to the register and wait for my turn.
"You can go to Number One" says the attendant who is monitoring the lines to make sure each checkstand is sanitized between customers. This is when my brain fails me and I go over to Checkstand 2. "Oh, not that one" she calmly corrects me, "Over here. I know we're not all quite awake yet." She offers this excuse like a kind teacher, without judgment, while I feel humiliated that I Broke The Rules. No, I didn't put anyone in danger, but I value being obedient in this situation and I failed to pay attention, which fills me with chagrin. The cashiers are friendly here; its as though they understand that most of us are trying to just get through this "being indoors in public" exercise. I load up the belt, first from the basket and then from the cart, paying separately for each order. This is when I feel good again-- I took a trip so someone wouldn't have to. Leaving the store, Joe is pulling into the driveway; I push the cart through the large exit space created between the people waiting in line. The store has taken good care of me today. As I get into the car, Joe squeezes some more Purell on my hands. After each trip, I give him a short debriefing of my experience, then let it go. I keep my mask on, drop groceries off to my friend... we stand on her back porch and talk about the plant starts she was able to pick up safely from a small family nursery which allows plenty of distancing. Then, it's into the car and heading home.
Short term/high stress is what it is. It's unavoidable, totally doable, and I can recover from it pretty quickly-- the trick is to use up that stored energy in a positive way. I tell Joe about my plans for the upcoming week as we sip coffee on the porch and have a slice of challah slathered with butter. A few minutes later, I've changed into my gardening clothes, aka my Dirt Pants and Dirt Shoes, and have the weed whacker going in the parking strip. The grass was getting rangy and this is something I can put my energy toward. The grass mowed down, I rake and then Joe comes out and we work together, me with a broom and him with a shovel, getting the street and sidewalk tidied up. He and I are a good team and I wish we could all be a team at this time, everyone on the same page helping each other out. I know I'll go again next Sunday. This is just part of life now, and will be for a long, foreseeable time ahead.
*DSIT (Division Sidewalk Intensive Training) is a punishment for those recruits whose belongings were not ship-shape, who were insubordinate, or any other reason they felt you needed 'straightening out'. I was assigned DSIT for writing in a journal-- which they required and then read-- that I "just want to sleep forever"... they thought I might be suicidal; I was just really freaking exhausted. With DSIT, you, as well as other no-gooders, get to be yelled at and do endless exercises in front of your barracks where every other company in that division can watch you. It's sort of like the Walk of Shame out there, but as I said, I'll take that over life-threatening illness.
I've stopped taking my bags with me. They don't allow them in the store. In a kitchen drawer, the volume of plastic produce bags grows exponentially. A few months ago, I'd save them all, take some along with my reusable fabric produce bags, aiming for minimum plastic usage. Now I have no choice but to collect them and reuse them at home, however possible. Unzipping my wallet, I pull out just two items: my debit card and my ID, just in case, right? No cash for the checker to handle because I've gotta keep them safe too.
Driving down Glisan, en route to the Grant Park New Seasons, Joe asks me how I am. He's not used to me being so quiet. I share with him how this feels like going into battle, in a way, a singleminded sense of purpose: get through the store as conscientiously and with as little chance of any exposure to Covid-19 as possible. It reminds me of my days in Boot Camp, nearly 30 years ago, preparing for a barracks inspection. Make sure your bunk is perfect, blanket and pillow aligned exactly as it should be, seabag folded precisely as instructed, dungarees and work shirt with the proper placement-- the many little items opportunities for DSIT-- Division Sidewalk Intensive Training*. I did that once. It was not fun, but I'd take a week of those over getting this virus.
I'm shopping for a mentor and her family, friends of mine. This is not altruism in the slightest, this is my pure selfishness of wanting them to be around for a long time. I need them, my quasi-family, their steadfast support and love and great advice. I need her more than I need most people, this woman who opened her home, heart and family to me in a time when I was so lost. They are singular in my life and so I will take care shopping not to accidentally do anything which might expose them.
This is a short term/high stress situation for me. I know this going into the store. I didn't have to stand on one of the dots painted six feet apart on the sidewalk; Joe got me there in time and dropped me off before driving home to eat his own breakfast. The greeter at the door asks if I've been in lately. Behind my mask I nod, then walk over to the wall where a hand sanitizer dispenser waits. smearing the foamy fluff all over my hands, knowing that the second I touch the next item, the protection it provides is over. Pulling a sanitized cart out, a basket is placed inside to separate our families' groceries. I learned to do this after the first trip, when sorting things out of a big cart at the register and trying not to mix them up.
I slowly cruise into the produce section,which I now know fairly well. I'll pass the avocados first, and grab one before I make my rounds. Turning the plastic bags inside out carefully over my hand, using it like a glove to handle produce. I find a tomato but when I turn it over, it's squashed and queasy-looking at the top. I feel awful putting it back on the stand; the 'take what you touch' philosophy I'm practicing has been offended. In hindsight, I should have asked someone stocking the veg if they had a discard box for me to deposit it in. As more people come into the store, the produce section becomes more crowded and I wait patiently to move into vacant spaces to keep a safe distance. It is then that they appear, a couple, each with their own small cart, walking close to people, standing and talking, comparing--what? They have masks on but seem oblivious to staying the fuck away from me or anyone else. Yes, that expletive does enter my mind, and I decide that they are now The Careless Couple and I'm going to have to keep an eye on them.
As I try to leave that section of the store, here comes a familiar character, a big and tall younger guy, no mask, barreling directly at me. He's got a huge cart, no list, and the same 'get out of my way' look on his face that he did on previous Sundays. I feel targeted and try to move away, but then I'm going to be compromising others around me. Maybe on Wednesday when the store starts requiring masks, he'll go shop somewhere else. I can hope?
Make it to the meat counter; I ask for some ground turkey and stand back from the counter. Even the though the glass case is nearly taller than I am, I want to keep the man who weighs and packages my food safe.
I've got my list written in the order I walk through the store, and encounter Big and Tall Guy again. I turn my body toward the shelf as he barges past, inhaling before he comes close to me and then slowly exhaling as I walk up the aisle away from him. Does this really work or is this a harmless Jedi mind trick I'm using to calm myself? Does it matter? It feels like people are popping up at me and I'm having to assess safe/danger in each encounter. Before going back out onto a main aisle, I breathe. There's no one directly around me now, but I can spot the Careless Couple heading in the same direction I want to go and wait a beat. Yes, I am avoiding them like the plague. They go down an aisle I was hoping to visit, so I decide to go a different way and come back.
Over to the birthday cards. This is where my frustration and high alert take a backseat to a different feeling: a flood of warmth for a dearest friend who is celebrating her 50th in a few days. There's a hint of sadness that I can't take her out for dinner for a long while, but the card I choose reminds me of previous times and hopefully, times to come. It's a bit of a break from my diligent mission, a small island of feeling my breathing slow and I smile behind the purple fabric printed with Chinese Lanterns which she gave me long ago.
Back to my list, I'm trying to go down an aisle but there's a pregnant-out-to-here woman crouched down blocking my way, aiming her phone to look at the back of a bottle of oil. I wonder if she forgot her reading glasses at home and is trying to magnify the text. I remember the brain fog of pregnancy and wait passively for her to notice me. For the only time in this visit, I feel like this is a person who I can give a lot of grace to, who isn't being careless. Her mask is on, she's likely just as stressed as I am. She notices me, apologizes, and scoots over, then sways off. I go toward the shelf my desired items are on, but they are out of the raisins my friend requested and I can only grab one bag of walnut pieces-- the rest of them are pushed way to the back of a high shelf and there's no one around to assist. I now wonder in hindsight if I got almonds instead of walnuts, that's how hard focusing can be sometimes in that situation.
I make it through the rest of the store without any further worries, grabbing some focaccia on the way out. I've been trying to stick to eating only one piece of bread a day, per my healthier-eating diet I'm trying to maintain, but there's something so satisfying about that salty, olive oil and rosemary bread that I decide this will be my treat for the week. Besides, the ground turkey, chard and white bean soup I made the other day is low carb, so I can stay within range. I line up on the orange dots which lead to the register and wait for my turn.
"You can go to Number One" says the attendant who is monitoring the lines to make sure each checkstand is sanitized between customers. This is when my brain fails me and I go over to Checkstand 2. "Oh, not that one" she calmly corrects me, "Over here. I know we're not all quite awake yet." She offers this excuse like a kind teacher, without judgment, while I feel humiliated that I Broke The Rules. No, I didn't put anyone in danger, but I value being obedient in this situation and I failed to pay attention, which fills me with chagrin. The cashiers are friendly here; its as though they understand that most of us are trying to just get through this "being indoors in public" exercise. I load up the belt, first from the basket and then from the cart, paying separately for each order. This is when I feel good again-- I took a trip so someone wouldn't have to. Leaving the store, Joe is pulling into the driveway; I push the cart through the large exit space created between the people waiting in line. The store has taken good care of me today. As I get into the car, Joe squeezes some more Purell on my hands. After each trip, I give him a short debriefing of my experience, then let it go. I keep my mask on, drop groceries off to my friend... we stand on her back porch and talk about the plant starts she was able to pick up safely from a small family nursery which allows plenty of distancing. Then, it's into the car and heading home.
Short term/high stress is what it is. It's unavoidable, totally doable, and I can recover from it pretty quickly-- the trick is to use up that stored energy in a positive way. I tell Joe about my plans for the upcoming week as we sip coffee on the porch and have a slice of challah slathered with butter. A few minutes later, I've changed into my gardening clothes, aka my Dirt Pants and Dirt Shoes, and have the weed whacker going in the parking strip. The grass was getting rangy and this is something I can put my energy toward. The grass mowed down, I rake and then Joe comes out and we work together, me with a broom and him with a shovel, getting the street and sidewalk tidied up. He and I are a good team and I wish we could all be a team at this time, everyone on the same page helping each other out. I know I'll go again next Sunday. This is just part of life now, and will be for a long, foreseeable time ahead.
*DSIT (Division Sidewalk Intensive Training) is a punishment for those recruits whose belongings were not ship-shape, who were insubordinate, or any other reason they felt you needed 'straightening out'. I was assigned DSIT for writing in a journal-- which they required and then read-- that I "just want to sleep forever"... they thought I might be suicidal; I was just really freaking exhausted. With DSIT, you, as well as other no-gooders, get to be yelled at and do endless exercises in front of your barracks where every other company in that division can watch you. It's sort of like the Walk of Shame out there, but as I said, I'll take that over life-threatening illness.
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