Shopping in the End Times

Heading out

Lately, I feel as if I am shopping in the end times. I make my weekly shopping list and shop just once. Then I prepare. I make sure I have my list, mask, shopping bag, and wallet. I almost always forget my glasses and have to go back for them. My forays are so rare, I hardly remember what it takes to get out the door. I check just to make sure I’m wearing shoes, not slippers.

Before I get out of my car I tie on my mask and grab a disinfecting wipe to clean my own hands, and the cart handles. I wipe my hands over and over as I shop. I try not to handle things, taking the first item I touch. Last week I guiltily sorted through some eggplants in the produce section, looking around furtively to see if anyone noticed my transgression. 

The quiet and no smiles

As I enter the store I push my glasses up onto my head and fight the impulse to remove my mask. Then I wipe my hands again. Most people are shopping alone, masked, and, like me, clutching lists. People may be smiling, but I can’t tell. There is the occasional friendly nod, but most of us are intent on our tasks, eager to return to the safety of home. 

The stores are eerily quiet. Why have they stopped playing music? They always used to play the kind of music I’d sing along to. Now I must provide my own soundtrack in my head. Sometimes I realize I’m singing out loud. At least my singing is muffled by my mask. I could wear earbuds, but those make me feel even more disconnected from my surroundings. 

Intentional shopping

My list is written in the order of the store’s layout. I have always done this, but now it seems required; it’s difficult to backtrack to get something I missed. There are now arrows directing me which aisles go in which direction. Last week a manger scolded me for going the wrong way in the canned foods aisle. Then, in the frozen aisle, I missed something and panicked. Could I walk backward? Did I need to leave and re-enter the aisle? I wasn’t interested in another reprimand. 

I have always loved shopping and food shopping in particular and now it leaves me sad and disoriented. Rushing through my weekly errand adds to my discomfort. I no longer dawdle in the cheese department, looking for something tempting to try, or head down an aisle just to browse and see what’s new. No matter how organized I am it still takes me too long. All I want to do is get back home where I can breathe without a barrier and go back to pretending this is all temporary. 

What is normal?

I no longer believe that life will return to normal, not that I remember what normal is. It seems like I’ve been home forever. Has it been just two months? At first, I assumed I would go back to work in a few months, now I’m not so sure. What I am certain of is that when I do go back to work nothing will be the way it was. 

No matter what comes after this, there is no denying these are the end times for many things we’re accustomed to doing. And the way we’re used to doing them. Will we ever casually shake hands or hug in greeting again? I cannot imagine going back to a movie theater, a crowded restaurant, or arriving anywhere without immediately washing my hands.

The thought of getting on a plane terrifies me and as much as I hate wearing a mask, I wonder when I will feel safe leaving my house without one? How will I manage the anxiety I already feel about getting on a city bus (my means of getting to and from work)?

As much as I dislike the term ‘the new normal’ I think we’re going to be defining, and redefining what normal means for at least another year if not longer. Shopping in the end times will continue to change as we reconfigure over and over to accommodate our shifting needs and fears. But, hey, at least there’s plenty of toilet paper.