“…I knew inside was likely a zoo…”
Through all that’s been going on, all things considered, I have been handling everything pretty well. Most days are filled with pleasant activities like baking, cooking, reading, writing and/or editing old poems I’ve written, lounging with the babies (of the fur variety), speaking with loved ones and enjoying my space. However, the other day, well, not so much. Rut-roh. Marketing time.
Having to venture out and go into “the world”, I prepared myself. Mask? Check. Long hair up and wrapped? Check. Gloves? Check. Hand sanitizer and spray bottle with rubbing alcohol to wipe down grocery bag before it goes into the truck? Check. Nerves settled with Rescue Remedy? Check. Ready to venture past the security of home? Check.
Arriving at the full parking lot I knew inside was likely a zoo. Afterall, it was Good Friday and many needed stuff for Easter dinner. Or the weekend. Or whatever. There was a general air of Orwellian confusion in an semi-orderly fashion. One way aisles were designated, bare shelves, people in a daze and looking scared. Families were dawdling in front of the Easter candy display. Most blocking the way for others to get by. Donning my gloves I had an itch on my cheek where the N95 mask sat (I have one from the fires here last year). Don’t touch your face. Don’t do it!!!!
It was obvious to me that some people were being complacent and not complying with the PPE orders here. Lots of bare faces and hands. Pushing her cart aside just before the in-store Starbucks and gathering her groceries up from the metal basket, I saw one woman take off her gloves and just throw them letting them land like a retired condom with a unceremonious splat. I spoke up saying she might think to just take them with her and dispose of them later. She responded with: I don’t want to touch them again. They may be contaminated. Um, okay.
In addition to all that, there were just waaaaaaay too many people inside rendering it nearly impossible for proper social distancing. Living in a tourist area where there are a lot of vacation homes, it appeared many folks were out here for a “visit”. We locals can tell out-of-towners in a heartbeat. Well, there are quite a few still venturing here to, um, get away. I won’t go into how wrong that is because I may blow up and I am trying to maintain an even keel.
With all that said, I remained fairly calm and was able to keep my shit together for the most part. After gathering necessities, the next step was to proceed to the check out lanes. The lines spilled down the aisles like limp tentacles reaching towards the back of the store. Following the social distancing guidelines, markers on the floor were spaced out so that each customer was supposed to be separated by the length of two shopping carts.
This was all fine and good but with so many people in the store trying to get down aisles to finish their shopping or for the lost tourists to find whatever and wander aimlessly, we all had to maneuver in order to adhere to the guidelines. It was like an odd game of opposite bumper cars. Don’t touch me, jimbo, I won’t dance. I stood in line for 45 minutes feeling nervous shifting from leg to leg and practicing a mantra of “just breathe, this will soon pass”. One man yelled at me for standing in front of the ice cream he wanted. Another huffed when I asked politely if he could stand back a little. Jeezus, it’s not a big deal, he mumbled under his breath. Uh, yeah it is, asshole. This is all a big deal.
My turn was coming up. After the cashier wiped down the conveyor belt, I finally put down my small order of groceries. I started to feel like the room was closing in on me and could feel my heart beat gaining speed. I wished I could just grab everything and leave. I wished I could have hugged the friends I happened to see in the store moments prior. I wished this would all go away. I wished I had taken a larger dose of Rescue Remedy. My glasses began to steam up and I could feel tears begin to well. Choke those things down, woman. Big girl panties time. Don’t lose it in HERE! Stay calm. Breathe. All I could think was: get me out of here. Finally the order was tallied up. I took out the plastic and tried to pay but the card wouldn’t take. I tried it again several times. Slide…..beepbeep…..slide……..beepbeep. Again, try it again I know there is money in there. Still my effort to pay was to no avail. My glasses were fogging up like an outdoor sauna window during a snowstorm and it was hard to see the POS. Sliiiide….beepbeep. Finally, the cashier asked what kind of card I was using. I looked at it and realized it was my insurance card. I was trying to charge my groceries to Kaiser. Something snapped. As tears welled in my eyes and I felt ridiculous, it took everything I had to not burst into tears. I fumbled in my wallet for the right card. Apologizing to the cashier and those behind me, the cashier gently said, “It’s okay hon. We are all a bit dazed these days.” The woman behind me putting her groceries on the belt BEFORE the cashier said to (they are wiping down the belts and payment terminals between orders), a tourist, said: “oh, for crissake…hurry up.” I just gave her a WTF look over my mask then said, “Welcome to river time.”
Finally reaching the truck in the parking lot with my supplies bundled compactly in one brown bag, I let go and began to just cry. Softly quietly cry. It was a release and a relief to finally let go of all the tension that had been building for days. On the ride back home I finally felt the anxiety lift and had to chuckle about using the wrong card. It is kind of funny….in a omg-I’m-a-little-out-of-sorts-when-will-
this-end sort of way. Moral is: laughter heals.
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