I went to the grocery store today. I got up at 5:00 a.m., left the house at 5:30 a.m., picked up my mother and drove to the grocery store. They opened the door to let us in at 6:00 a.m. on the dot. It was the hour allotted for senior citizens (60+) to get in, get their stuff, and get out before the store opened to the general public. The store is newly sanitized to the best of their ability at this time in the morning. An employee stood at the door and turned away anyone who wasn't a "senior". It was a quiet crowd that busily moved about the aisles trying to keep their distance but also fill their lists. No visiting and, basically, no breathing when you had to pass someone. No one was shopping without a list. There were masks, and some gloves, Clorox wipes, and hand sanitizer, and more than a little fear. Not the panic kind of fear that makes you do stupid things. The kind of fear that makes you somber, serious, a little bit sad, and a lot careful. Mom and I filled our orders and checked ourselves out, sanitizing everything we could. We were in the car headed out of the parking lot by 6:40 a.m. I am not going to lie. These trips to the store cause me such anxiety that I don't sleep well the night before. I worry not so much for myself--although there is a bit of that. I worry about my mother getting infected. I worry about bringing the virus home to my husband who is still working (and not from home) and is at high risk. I worry . . .
One image has haunted me throughout the rest of the day. There was a little man who was very elderly. He had a tiny piece of paper with his list on it. He would look at the list and then look around. He was somber and a little confused. The adjustments you have to make quickly because what you want or need isn't there can be tough, especially if you have dietary needs that require label reading. Which means picking up something and possibly needing to put it back. That's a no-no these days. That all takes time and we had one hour. I am sure that he filled his list and made it home. But that face has stayed with me. It seems to represent all of us. We're bewildered and frightened and sad all at the same time.
Last week, we went to "senior hour" and there was one person with a mask. People were smiling and saying hi. No visiting but a quick, "How are your kids doing?" and moving on. There were a lot of people and they were younger--over 60 but not that far over. There were more things on the shelves this week, though, and the shopping wasn't as "feverish."
I've never enjoyed grocery shopping. To be productive, it's always taken some level of planning. The planning consisted of intended purchases. It might be a random list of items that were written down as they popped into my head or it might be listed by food type or location in the store. Having a list was THE preparation. Planning for grocery shopping has now taken on a whole new meaning. It involves a list written in order of my planned path through the store, where I'll pick up the cart and what I'll use to disinfect it, how I'll avoid touching anything unnecessarily and the list goes on all the way through unloading them at home and disinfecting purchases and surfaces before putting them away. Gone are the days of running into the store, grabbing a few items, and setting them on the kitchen counter to be put away.
As we move through the COVID-19 Pandemic, our world has turned upside down. Already, for me, grocery shopping will never be the same. I'll always think about where those germs might be lurking and how I can avoid them. I'll know that I can get in and get out of the grocery store in 30 minutes with mostly everything I need. Trips will be fewer and more efficient. We'll make do with what we have and we'll cook more at home. And we'll waste a lot less food. Some of these changes are good things. None of these changes are bad things. It is the emotional impetus behind them that is born of anxiety and uncertainty that gives us pause to stop and appreciate the innocence of where we've been, the naiveté that we leave behind, and the courage to meet what is to come.
