Today I finally ventured out again. I had been inside the house for a week - my last walk was last Wednesday - and decided I really needed to have a bit of a leg-stretch.
Since I was by now out of fresh milk, eggs, and vegetables and fruit, I decided to go to the supermarket. It was quite an experience!
On the walk there I passed several parks, which were somewhat populated by groups of two humans, often accompanied by dogs. Although they didn't exactly clump together, they didn't keep two metres distance, either. I don't know whether to blame inflation or lack of schooling, but most people seemed to think that 3 feet was equivalent to two metre.
Walking as I was on a sidewalk I was constantly dodging other pedestrians - I did the dodging! No one else did. They were passing each other at a distance of about one foot. My wide berth elicited many an amused chuckle - oh well, always pleased to spread some joy.
Once at the supermarket things became serious!
We had to wait outside, distancing ourselves - again, two to three feet was the spacing that was most popular. When I barked at the bearded smoking young man behind me "You are too close!" he looked like a kicked dog and slunk back. Result! One day I am going to get myself killed doing that sort of thing.
At the door there were two supermarket guardians, strictly controlling who went in and out. A total of 40 were allowed in the store - which is large - at any one time, and every time someone left they allowed one of us in. I only had to wait about 15 minutes, having ascertained by perusal of their website what the least busy times for this shop were. It was sunny, and the closed shops and lack of people put me back 30 years, when that was pretty much what most Sundays used to look like. It was a peaceful calming experience, reminiscent of a Summer school holiday, or La Bourboule at lunch time.
Finally it was my turn, and I entered the shop. The shop assistants, having worked so hard to limit the number of shoppers inside the store, didn't much care to distance themselves from us. When I asked a question, from two metres away - better safe than sorry! - a young man bounded towards me, eager to help out. I managed to narrowly avoid being embraced by quickly jumping three feet backwards. He looked hurt, but nevertheless informed me that I was allowed to buy two bags of frozen cherries.
Why do young people think that I am fair game for their physical attentions? I don't need an arm around my shoulder, or a steadying hand on my arm, and while we are at it, I am not your girlfriend so don't call me Love, Sweetheart, or Darling! Madam, Mylady, and Her Imperial Worthiness are all acceptable forms of address, so use those, you uncouth lot!
I queued leaving two metres in front of the shopper at the till before me, and someone with a trolley jumped in before me. A student, of all people - didn't he have time enough to wait his turn? "I was there first," he claimed. Like how? The space was clearly delineated, I was following the rules. "Do it then," I admonished him, aching to add "and be damned!", and walked away with my little basket containing seven items. Then I picked up some bacon and added it to my basket - if everyone else is selfish, so shall I!
Finally I stood before another till. The young woman in front of me was experiencing difficulties, she was buying too much. She had brought a huge personal shopping trolley, which she filled with her purchases, and also carried three plastic bags. She tried to buy four bags of toilet paper, each containing 4 rolls, and had three confiscated. The same happened to kitchen roll, cans of beans, and four of her five extra large jars of Marmite - really?
At every confiscation she winced and argued feebly, but the gentleman at the till was hard as stone. When she tried to buy some paracetamol, she was asked for some sort of reference or ID - unfortunately I wasn't close enough to catch what that was all about. Several supermarket attendants were hovering in the vicinity of the till, ready to jump into action should the over-shopper decide to grab the extra toilet paper and make a dash for it, so in the end she had to leave peaceably, and it was my turn.
By now I was quite anxious about my two bags of frozen cherries, and told one of the supermarket guardians that one of her colleagues had told me it was OK to buy two of them - was that right? She turned to me and positively beamed when she saw the meagre contents of my shopping baskets. "Of course", she trilled, "that is perfectly alright." "And thank you so much for asking," she added, looking meaningfully at the retreating back of the over-shopper who had preceded me at the till. The over-shopper shuffled away quickly, looking extremely shifty. I felt like the Teacher's Pet everyone hates at school, smug and worried that I might get beaten up once I left the protective cocoon of the supermarket guardians.
Luckily the over-shopper had been so comprehensively subdued by the shop assistants that she didn't dare to try any funny stuff when I emerged from the door. For a split second it looked as though she might cough a little in my direction, but then she just walked off quickly, pulling her trolley and clutching her three plastic bags.
Thus ended my weekly outing - not sure I will repeat the experience again any time soon. It might be better to live off my tinned peaches, milk powder, and dry eggs instead until things have returned to normal.
PS It did occur to me, while watching the crushed over-shopper, to buy one of her packages of toilet paper and give it to her, but I rejected that thought as too counter-revolutionary and system-perverting. Also I didn't want to lose the approval of the five shop assistants in whose warm appreciation I was basking!
