My wife and I went to the grocery store early this morning. It was very quiet there. I have never found grocery shopping very interesting, but it has never felt quite like this, for as far as this corona thing goes, we are in the danger zone.
As we apprehensively made our way around the store, and encountered other shoppers, we (and they) would naturally wonder, “What danger do you present?” It’s not as easy as telling who can’t drive a car, or who loves Jesus, or who might have a bomb in their backpack, or who has no sense of humour, or who is likely to rob you, beat the shit out of you, and rape your wife. It’s a shame, but it’s a new world.
When you see young people at the food store, you know the bastards have the virus, but don’t give a shit. You try and hold your breath as long as you can, as you stride by them. When you encounter the elderly, you figure that, if they had it, they’d be dropping down dead in front of you, and given they're not, they must be OK. Children are another story. Of course, we treasure all children, as they represent the future of our world. But, with that said, and with all the potential etc, they need to stay the fuck away from me.
Though we don’t trust each other as shoppers, it seems we are unaccountably nonchalant in our dealings with the cashier, who deals with hundreds of people a day. It’s as if her being paid to be there makes her invulnerable. But she is able to tell you what is selling out, what is coming in when, and what people have been hoarding. Apparently, we have decided she is worth the risk.
We bought 3 10kg bags of flour. In our lives, we have mostly been oblivious to the existence of flour. In a very few years, our three kids will inherit one bag each. We must have subliminally gotten three, so there would be no court battles over that part of the inheritance.