A Moment
I had a moment yesterday. I had to go to the grocery store to get a few items. The store was crowded for a Thursday morning. I hadn't expected it. I hadn’t expected to have my anxiety revved up, either.
The store appeared to be well-stocked and full of people, like most of my trips to Food Lion. But as I got through the produce section, and I started to take stock of what was available, I got a little antsy. Yes, there was food. None of us are going to starve. But there was no sugar, no flour, no butter, no cheese, no rice, no beans, no Ramen noodles, no frozen french fries, no toilet paper, no water, no paper towels, no tissues. Not that I needed any of that, but it was hard to see empty shelves.
What was worse was the people. I usually shop on Sundays for the entire week. I haven't been on a weekday morning. Weekday mornings must be prime time for older shoppers. Some of them were standing and staring at the empty shelves with a bewildered look on their faces. Some were just aimlessly wandering, with nothing in their cart. In the cereal aisle, I helped an older lady getting an item off the top shelf. She was shopping with another person who was in a wheelchair.
I handed her the box of instant oatmeal. It wasn't what she wanted though. "Where's the regular boxes of Cream of Wheat?" she whispered. There wasn't any. No Cocoa Wheat either. We looked. She then said quietly, "What will we eat for breakfast?"
I put on my cheery face and said that instant oatmeal was pretty good, especially the kind with bits of apple. "She won't eat it," she nodded to the wheelchair.
"How about pancakes? A little treat this week?" There was only a few packages to chose from. I got down on the bottom shelf and found the buttermilk kind pushed back. I got her and myself one. Then we noticed the syrup section was cleaned out. Just a few bottles of sugar-free syrup. We had a conversation about how that stuff can give you the poops. I went back to the bottom shelf and found her one lonely bottle of regular syrup. We chatted about how crazy it all was, and she pushed on down the aisle.
My cart up to that point had a few items, but now I started to get worried. I didn't need that pancake mix; I’m finally making from-scratch ones that everyone will eat. But I got it anyway, just in case. Then, I got a box of granola bars, just in case. And a package of sausage. And bacon. And lunch meat. I even backtracked to other aisles. My just in case filled the entire cart.
I was embarrassed. I felt guilty. I felt afraid. Do we have enough food? What if it gets worse? What if the economy tanks? What about my mom? What about my kids?
My fear took hold and began to ratchet up. I was having trouble maintaining even breathing. I looked for my favorite cashier who chatters about her cats while she rings you up. Her line was long. I got in another cashier’s line that was talking to her friend about how crazy everyone one was, how everyone was overreacting. The mom in front of me was paying for her adult daughter’s groceries because she wasn’t working right now. The man behind me had a case of beer and a bag of chips. I wanted to be a confident person with no worries with a case of beer and chips at 10 a.m. By the time I was rung up, I was terribly frazzled. I couldn’t remember my pin for my debit card. It took two tries.
When I got the groceries loaded up into the car, I sat there with the engine running. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror. My eyes were watery and wild. My neck was blotched. I looked like a person on the edge.
At that moment, Steve called. It came in over the speakers in the car. He asked me what I was doing and I began to blubber, “At the grocery store. It was awful. All the old people, they were lost. The shelves were empty. There was no cheese. Cheese! There wasn’t cheese. How do people pay for their stuff if they don’t have a job?”
Steve is just always straight-up Steve. “Stop being a pussy,” he said. That made me laugh. Also made me notice the couple putting groceries in the car next to me who could obviously hear him. The man was laughing; the woman was not. “If you are going to survive the apocalypse, you need a better attitude. Dry it up and get yourself home.”
I got home and put the groceries away. Steve called again to make sure I was home okay and to offer his love. I was better, but I still cried a little more, on and off throughout the afternoon. I’m supposed to now tell you about all my blessings and what I have to be thankful for. But that wasn’t what I was feeling. I was wallowing in my misery. I was mad and disappointed and scared and sad. All those emotions came at once and hit me in the Food Lion.
I think we would be wrong to not have a moment. I think we are all entitled to a moment. This situation deserves a moment. I haven’t developed coping skills for a pandemic. But I will. And hopefully, I won’t ever have to use those skills after this passes. In the meantime, I’m going to do okay, but I think moments are necessary for all of us.
The store appeared to be well-stocked and full of people, like most of my trips to Food Lion. But as I got through the produce section, and I started to take stock of what was available, I got a little antsy. Yes, there was food. None of us are going to starve. But there was no sugar, no flour, no butter, no cheese, no rice, no beans, no Ramen noodles, no frozen french fries, no toilet paper, no water, no paper towels, no tissues. Not that I needed any of that, but it was hard to see empty shelves.
What was worse was the people. I usually shop on Sundays for the entire week. I haven't been on a weekday morning. Weekday mornings must be prime time for older shoppers. Some of them were standing and staring at the empty shelves with a bewildered look on their faces. Some were just aimlessly wandering, with nothing in their cart. In the cereal aisle, I helped an older lady getting an item off the top shelf. She was shopping with another person who was in a wheelchair.
I handed her the box of instant oatmeal. It wasn't what she wanted though. "Where's the regular boxes of Cream of Wheat?" she whispered. There wasn't any. No Cocoa Wheat either. We looked. She then said quietly, "What will we eat for breakfast?"
I put on my cheery face and said that instant oatmeal was pretty good, especially the kind with bits of apple. "She won't eat it," she nodded to the wheelchair.
"How about pancakes? A little treat this week?" There was only a few packages to chose from. I got down on the bottom shelf and found the buttermilk kind pushed back. I got her and myself one. Then we noticed the syrup section was cleaned out. Just a few bottles of sugar-free syrup. We had a conversation about how that stuff can give you the poops. I went back to the bottom shelf and found her one lonely bottle of regular syrup. We chatted about how crazy it all was, and she pushed on down the aisle.
My cart up to that point had a few items, but now I started to get worried. I didn't need that pancake mix; I’m finally making from-scratch ones that everyone will eat. But I got it anyway, just in case. Then, I got a box of granola bars, just in case. And a package of sausage. And bacon. And lunch meat. I even backtracked to other aisles. My just in case filled the entire cart.
I was embarrassed. I felt guilty. I felt afraid. Do we have enough food? What if it gets worse? What if the economy tanks? What about my mom? What about my kids?
My fear took hold and began to ratchet up. I was having trouble maintaining even breathing. I looked for my favorite cashier who chatters about her cats while she rings you up. Her line was long. I got in another cashier’s line that was talking to her friend about how crazy everyone one was, how everyone was overreacting. The mom in front of me was paying for her adult daughter’s groceries because she wasn’t working right now. The man behind me had a case of beer and a bag of chips. I wanted to be a confident person with no worries with a case of beer and chips at 10 a.m. By the time I was rung up, I was terribly frazzled. I couldn’t remember my pin for my debit card. It took two tries.
When I got the groceries loaded up into the car, I sat there with the engine running. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror. My eyes were watery and wild. My neck was blotched. I looked like a person on the edge.
At that moment, Steve called. It came in over the speakers in the car. He asked me what I was doing and I began to blubber, “At the grocery store. It was awful. All the old people, they were lost. The shelves were empty. There was no cheese. Cheese! There wasn’t cheese. How do people pay for their stuff if they don’t have a job?”
Steve is just always straight-up Steve. “Stop being a pussy,” he said. That made me laugh. Also made me notice the couple putting groceries in the car next to me who could obviously hear him. The man was laughing; the woman was not. “If you are going to survive the apocalypse, you need a better attitude. Dry it up and get yourself home.”
I got home and put the groceries away. Steve called again to make sure I was home okay and to offer his love. I was better, but I still cried a little more, on and off throughout the afternoon. I’m supposed to now tell you about all my blessings and what I have to be thankful for. But that wasn’t what I was feeling. I was wallowing in my misery. I was mad and disappointed and scared and sad. All those emotions came at once and hit me in the Food Lion.
I think we would be wrong to not have a moment. I think we are all entitled to a moment. This situation deserves a moment. I haven’t developed coping skills for a pandemic. But I will. And hopefully, I won’t ever have to use those skills after this passes. In the meantime, I’m going to do okay, but I think moments are necessary for all of us.
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