Shopping Before Breakfast

I have always enjoyed those early morning trips to the supermarket. The sky is dark, the air is fresh and cold, the parking lot is mostly empty, and golden light beams out from the glass doors. You walk inside to the smell of coffee and fresh baked sweet rolls. There is a hush in the air. Everyone is going about their business, some of them only half awake.

Of course, this experience takes on a slightly different caste when you're also aware that along the way you might be contracting a fatal disease.

The other day I set out for CUB before dawn, driven by the long grocery list that had developed since the last time I went, a week ago, and encouraged by something I'd read the previous day in the New Yorker. Atul Gawande  had written about data from Singapore and Hong Kong suggesting that transmission of the corona virus was not common between individuals who spent less than fifteen minutes in one another's company.

A week ago, on my last trip to the store, everything was new. I was wondering how long the groceries I was buying would have to last, and I was also slightly disturbed that products such as rice, dried beans, and toilet paper were nowhere to be seen.  Now, back again a week later, with a larder still heavily stocked with soups, sardines, and crackers, I was beginning to get into a rhythm. 

And there were a few bags of basmati rice to be had. Yogurt, which had been unavailable a week ago, was now two for $7. And though brand-name toilet paper was still out of stock, there was an entire pallet of mediocre generic rolls sitting on the end-cap, bundled into four-packs for $.99.

By the time I got home, Hilary was starting in on a household project: recaulking the bathtub. We watched a few how-to videos, and we somehow convinced ourselves we needed some caulk remover.

"I'll go get some," I volunteered. I was enjoying being out. Maybe I was even boosting the economy. I could also visit the liquor store next door to Home Depot, then stop in at the Nodin Press office nearby and pick up a copy of a book that we'd just published.

There were plenty of people at Home Depot, but no one on the staff had heard of caulk remover. Nor did they stock such a product. 

I arrived at the liquor store twenty minutes before it opened (new hours) so I continued to the office, then sat in the drive-through line at Caribou Coffee for a latte, and even got the quiz question right: What city was F. Scott Fitzgerald born in?

Back at the liquor store I grabbed a few of the usual suspects and headed for home.

Reading through my emails a few minutes later, I came upon a link from the New York Times sent by a friend. The thrust of the article  was simplicity itself: STAY HOME.

Later, in the course of an email conversation with another friend, I mentioned that I'd been to Home Depot. She told me her neighbor works there. "She said it is astounding how many people are out shopping for non-essential items. She feels at risk of being infected by the hoards...They do need to stay open for contractors, plumbers, etc., but I don't think people that are bored or just want to do household projects should be allowed in. Just my opinion."

Oops.

Later in the day, emailing with a client in Durand, Wisconsin, I asked him how things were going.

He replied: "Yes, in Wisconsin all libraries are closed. I'm the only one going in; everyone else works from home. Beloit just confirmed its first few cases so hopefully it will do what it's going to do and all will return to normal soon. How about you? Probably doesn't affect you, other than your hipster night life.  Hold off on the raves, mister!"

For now, I think I'll stick to birdwatching. There are lots of ducks passing through town these days.