From The Archives: In The Midst Of A Pandemic, Observations From The Grocery Aisles
On a piece I wrote for Medium's "Pandemic Diaries" in March 2020
Remember March 2020? Yeah. I’m also trying to forget. But as we approach the three-year anniversary of the event that changed us forever, I thought I’d share a piece I wrote after a harrowing visit to Target in the pandemic’s early days. Enjoy!
In The Midst Of A Pandemic, Observations From The Grocery Aisles
At dawn, we brave the bitter LA cold—a chilling fifty-nine degrees today—as we wait outside the store for it to open. We are herded through the front doors as the sun’s first light licks the sky.
We wander the shiny linoleum floors, avoid each other, clutch our shopping baskets in hand (or elbow). We search for what was plentiful a week ago: eggs, paper towels, packets of tortellini, frozen scallops, olive oil. The shelves are gutted, not unlike us. We wander into the home goods aisle. We ask ourselves if perhaps a plastic philodendron might not put our hearts at ease.
Shouts from strangers ring across the aisles. They bark at the floor reps, demanding to know when the next shipment of Clorox will arrive. We shudder. Those people who bark—they are everything that’s wrong with the world. We shudder, but inwardly, we want to know the same thing they do.
How strange—
There are people wearing masks. There are people wearing gloves. There are people wearing gloves and masks. We roll our eyes, fishing through the last few remaining avocados on the produce stand, but wonder: should I, too, be wearing gloves AND a mask? It becomes a debilitating thought, here in the land of people who get paid to go outside looking good.
Women shout on the phone. Their voices are taught and rusted like wires.
“They cut my hours in half today.”
“They don’t have peanut butter. He likes peanut butter. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you want to buy this bottle of rosé while it’s half off?”
The question is not directed at me, but I answer anyway.
Yes, I respond, silently. I pile cans of white beans into my basket. They are out of pinto.
The last thing I want to be once the world finally ends is sober.