Escaping a week’s worth of cabin fever, the empty roads in the window of ordinarily rush hour congestion, I cursed my misfortune for having arrived at Costco that was clearly already closed. How else to explain the largely empty lot? Guess they must have cleared their shelves during the day with the panicked packrats beating me to the last pack of punch.
But alas, the rollup door was not down, and lo, there go people, lined up out the door! A small count of perhaps 20 people preceded me in a long line, as we were instructed to observe the socially appropriate distance of approximately 6’, waiting outside the store as the doorman determined who was fit to enter. Fortunately for me, the Fairfax Costco is not known for its abundance of hot chicks, so I was not passed over as I’d be at a DC club (or so I think it used to be, decades ago when I was young enough to try to gain entry into elitist environs like that). Most people seemed to respect the six degrees feet of separation, but when the line folded back over itself, the second side of the snake seemed uncomfortably close. In their defense, to maintain proper width would have forced them farther into the drive aisle. Would you rather catch coronavirus or get run down by a desperate shopper? Pick your poison. As Trump would say, both ways of going are generally acceptable.
After maybe fifteen minutes the floodgates opened, and we were ushered inside. I don’t know how far behind me they let in, but the store was scarily empty. Normally it is crash cart derby, weaving around the competition to get to the next batch of free samples. Today, no samples. Barriers down the middle of the main aisle reminded us of the six foot rule, and we tried to keep apart from the carts around us. I had to exercise great restraint not to go Supermarket Sweep, tearing ass down the aisle to get to the toilet paper first. By the time I reached that end of the store, all paper products (TP and PT) were long since gone anyway.
Instead, I leisurely made my way safely towards the meat section, stopping only briefly to stock up on other essentials (i.e. beer). Chicken breasts were gone. Some sorry looking wings remained, along with thighs, and I grabbed a pack of the latter. The steaks seemed crazily overpriced, so I opted for cheaper ground beef. And salmon. Prepared meals (shepherd’s pie, lasagna, stuffed peppers) all went into the cart. Two gallons of milk, two cartons of eggs, fruits, vegetables, you name it, it was probably on the wife’s list. (One of the eggs had to be returned, since they were limiting them to one per customer. I sincerely did not see any sign to this effect and was not trying to cheat the program). I loaded up on frozen entrees to supplement the fresh meals. Aside from the earlier apparent run on toilet paper and paper towels and the missing chicken breasts, the store seemed pretty well-stocked.
Are we hoarders? Hardly. We just have a baby coming in two days and anticipate not having the energy to do any real cooking or shopping after that point for a few weeks. The timing of our daughter just coincides with the pandemic. Little Covidia (name may change) is entering our world at a very weird time. But she has weird parents, so it should balance out.
A majority of the shoppers as per usual were of the Asian persuasion at this store, and at least half were wearing masks. If I were a Fox News fan, I might have challenged those people for bringing their virus to my store, but (try to) live and let die, say Paul, Axl and I.
Now here’s where it gets really surreal or surreally real. We’re all walking through, spaced out, constantly reminded of the airborne particulate that is expected to infect at least half the population at some point, leading a large minority to suffer nasty symptoms and a smaller (but still daunting) many deaths, and we’re eyeing each other wondering who is the vector among us? Did that guy just cough? Does she look sick? Are they wearing masks to keep our germs out or their own deadly germs in? While there are far fewer of us in this large warehouse, and they have those giant fans to circulate the air, are we just recirculating a viral atmosphere?
Again, I spent the better part of the past week cooped up in the house with the wife (working from home was required by her office, recommended by mine, and demanded by her for me), so just being out and about with other people was a big change. But instead of feeling socially connected, I felt sickened by the prospect of catching the contagion. I imagined I was inhaling fire, a fever-inducing droplet that would tear apart my lungs. And my chest started to burn from the psychosomatically induced symptoms. I was feeling flushed, flustered, and claustrophobic. Normally I only feel that way in Ikea. Is it possible I picked up coronavirus in the fifteen minutes I’ve been shopping? Did I actually pick it up weeks ago and the symptoms are just now manifesting? Am I the vector?! And does Costco sell respirators?
I picked up the pace and worked to create more space. Two people in that aisle? Skip it and try another empty one. I hate the crowds of a normal Costco run, yet this was somehow so much worse.
Before I could escape, back to the safety of our home cocoon, never to leave again until the all-clear is sounded (excepting that imminent trip to introduce our second child into this diseased world), I figured it best to add another case of beer, just in case, you know.
The check-out lines were similarly staggered, with a point person directing you to the next empty cashier. No line? Another first. Whereas they usually take your card at checkout, the cashier wasn’t touching anything besides the store goods and scanned from a distance. In loading one of the many boxes of groceries, I spilled a prepared meal. The cashier suggested I go grab a fresh one, and I debated it. Do I run the gauntlet of germs again, all the way back to the back of the store and back again just to get a meal that hasn’t fallen on the floor? Or do I forego a few bucks for my perceived safety? (The cheaper part of me won out, and I speed-walked my way to get another).
After spending an insane amount of money (only 10% of which was on beer by the way), I embraced the fresh outside air! I will survive!
At home, as soon as I entered the house, the wife demanded that I wash my hands, change my clothes, stay away, etc. It was good to be safe at home, even if I was being yelled at by a big pregnant lady.
Stay safe out there (and please stay away).
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 