She could vaguely make out her reflection in the thick plexiglass barriers. This was the new normal now, stores attempting to protect cashiers from the possibly-infected patrons. First she saw it at her local bulk warehouse membership store. She had tried to avoid this place for two weeks, but it was time.
Parking was plentiful, so there at least was that- until she saw the line. Like a disjointed snake it ran around the building after the switchbacks near the front. People were calm, many in masks and gloves. She had neither and felt naked. There was a designated cart wiper-downer person who handed her the extra large cart, typical of these warehouse stores. She always felt a bit ridiculous shopping there, being that there were only two people in her home-a package of toilet paper lasted them months. The line would ripple forward then stop. They were only letting in a certain amount of people at a time. Empty pallets had been placed strategically to form the maze of switchbacks funneling people into the store. This area used to be where people could congregate outside of the store to purchase cheap delicacies such as a polish hot dog and Pepsi combo for only a dollar twenty-five. The tables were now gone, and the food windows shuttered.
Once inside there was a new line, just for paper products and water. A posted sign listed all the items of which the store was completely out of stock. Spam. They were out of Spam. Was this what the world had come to? People were not only bringing themselves to eat Spam, but now they were hoarding it. Jellied meat. She shuddered, swallowing down a drop of vomit. What was next? A run on fruitcakes and haggis? Desperation must be setting in.
She had no problem obtaining one pack of paper products- paper towels and toilet paper, and she relaxed. They were good for a few months. People kept their six-feet social distance bubble as she picked up more items and checked out. Usually when a person left the store their receipt had to be checked by an employee standing at the door. Their eyes would flick back and forth between the items in the cart to the receipt, then back to the cart, then they would pause, draw a smiley face on the receipt and say, “thank you, have a good day.” She always found this part nerve wracking. Once she had lost her receipt somehow between the check out and the door, and she almost cried. She would never do that again; the receipt police were no joke. But today, there was no highlighter in hand, no cute smiley face drawn-the receipt police only inspected the thin paper from a distance, and nodded.
She was safe in her abode with a mountain of paper products, but today the virus was winning. There had now been more victims of the virus than that of the last physical attack on her country in which suicide bombers flew commercial planes into buildings, killing almost three-thousand people. The country still mourned that infamous day and the people who were lost. For how long would the entire country mourn the people who were dying now? The way it was going, the virus would claim many times the amount of dead that had so far been accounted for.
There wasn’t enough plexiglass in the world to stop that.
Parking was plentiful, so there at least was that- until she saw the line. Like a disjointed snake it ran around the building after the switchbacks near the front. People were calm, many in masks and gloves. She had neither and felt naked. There was a designated cart wiper-downer person who handed her the extra large cart, typical of these warehouse stores. She always felt a bit ridiculous shopping there, being that there were only two people in her home-a package of toilet paper lasted them months. The line would ripple forward then stop. They were only letting in a certain amount of people at a time. Empty pallets had been placed strategically to form the maze of switchbacks funneling people into the store. This area used to be where people could congregate outside of the store to purchase cheap delicacies such as a polish hot dog and Pepsi combo for only a dollar twenty-five. The tables were now gone, and the food windows shuttered.
Once inside there was a new line, just for paper products and water. A posted sign listed all the items of which the store was completely out of stock. Spam. They were out of Spam. Was this what the world had come to? People were not only bringing themselves to eat Spam, but now they were hoarding it. Jellied meat. She shuddered, swallowing down a drop of vomit. What was next? A run on fruitcakes and haggis? Desperation must be setting in.
She had no problem obtaining one pack of paper products- paper towels and toilet paper, and she relaxed. They were good for a few months. People kept their six-feet social distance bubble as she picked up more items and checked out. Usually when a person left the store their receipt had to be checked by an employee standing at the door. Their eyes would flick back and forth between the items in the cart to the receipt, then back to the cart, then they would pause, draw a smiley face on the receipt and say, “thank you, have a good day.” She always found this part nerve wracking. Once she had lost her receipt somehow between the check out and the door, and she almost cried. She would never do that again; the receipt police were no joke. But today, there was no highlighter in hand, no cute smiley face drawn-the receipt police only inspected the thin paper from a distance, and nodded.
She was safe in her abode with a mountain of paper products, but today the virus was winning. There had now been more victims of the virus than that of the last physical attack on her country in which suicide bombers flew commercial planes into buildings, killing almost three-thousand people. The country still mourned that infamous day and the people who were lost. For how long would the entire country mourn the people who were dying now? The way it was going, the virus would claim many times the amount of dead that had so far been accounted for.
There wasn’t enough plexiglass in the world to stop that.
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