Shopping during Covid times
Shopping during Covid times
I
was never a great fan of grocery's shopping. Let’s face it guys, it is terribly
boring, a real drag. You go to the supermarket every week, mostly on Saturdays
of all days - when you are totally crushed by a long week's toil and it's packed with people - to buy the same things, which you put
in the same places so you can pick them up one at the time and cook the same
things ad nauseam. I bet you can picture my expression now.
If
I could rate groceries’ shopping amongst the domestic chores I am the least
keen on, it would come probably second last, just before vacuum cleaning.
That’s right, the exasperating noise and horrible smell - despite the frantic cleanings and
fragrance sticks shoved into the contraption - persist, no matter what one does. No point
telling me that yours does not smell because it bloody does. You just don't
realize it anymore. I cannot describe the feeling I get when I finally
unplug it. A mix of relief but also almost the need to kick it. Not very
reasonable, I concur, but that goes to show how deeply it gets to me. Be
reassured, I never did it, though I remain convinced that it would allow some
real steam out.
Now coming back to the grocery’s shopping, my second least appreciated household
chore, as it were. If this was my weekly ordeal before, now, under Covid 19, it
has positively become a most dangerous adventure, a total nightmare. It is
like preparing for war.
So
this is how it goes now:
Step
1: While preparing myself mentally for it, which may take a day or two, I chose the clothes I should wear knowing that it must be
washed immediately after, as well as the scarf I will wear to cover my mouth
and nose. In normal times, I take the thing I feel it's the nicest for that
day and occasion. The process has been totally upended now. I take the one I like the least
and it takes a bit of time to decide which one it is, of course. At this point in time, I have no trace of any vanity left in me. My hair is a mess and I can't even be bothered with make up. Anyway, what would be the point if my face is totally wrapped? Finally, I put on the
clothes, hang my bag on the entrance door knob, make sure I have my keys, my
phone and wallet - which I check a zillion times - wrap the scarf around my
face as tight as I can so it does not slip down at the first step, and place
the disinfectant wipes, strategically, just besides the door. Once I am all set,
I open the door and try to jump from my sleepers into the shoes, I have been
leaving outside, on the door mat. It is sometimes a bit of a tricky exercise and every now and then it is definitely a miss, which makes me swear
badly under my teeth. That is, presuming that I have not forgotten anything,
like the bin bag, for instance. If that is the case, I have to take my shoes off, go
inside the house and start the crazy protocol, all over again.
Step
2: I try to open the lift without so much as touching it,
using one of the cleansing wipes. This process goes on until I get out of the
building and there is a lot of wiggling going on in this process. Yeah, by the
time I get downstairs I am already f…ing tired and totally freaked out,
wondering if I have not touched something. It is like walking on a mine field.
Step
3: Once out of the building, I go to the nearest
supermarket, some 500 meters away. Before I set out, I find a public dustbin
where I throw the wipe and clean my hands - again and probably for the
hundredth time today, and it is only 11 am – with a pocket germicide. I
adjust the scarf one last time very diligently, despite my scepticism about its efficiency. Seemingly it only protects others, bringing all
my flaming efforts to nought, at least for me.
I start my way zigzagging all
the way down to the supermarket to avoid some people, who obviously do not give
a monkeys about the virus, or have not been following the same news as I. There is where I start believing that we must leave in paralle universes. They
harbour a defiant attitude of who are not afraid at all of the invisible
killer. Noooo, that is for wimps like me. I must confess though, that, deep down, I admire their poise and nonchalance because right now, me, I am a right mess. Yeah, I know... boy, I hate them too.
At
this point, I am already dreading the supermarket chapter. There I will be
faced with the intrepid and ruthless ones, those who think that the social
distancing does not apply in the supermarket, of all places. People talking to
each other with their children around and completely oblivious that other
people must also circulate and preferably at a minimum distance of 1.5
m; bunch of NITWITS.
At this point, my restlessness is hitting the roof and quickly
metamorphosing into a kind of seething anger and, with an exasperated look, I launch
a dry “PARRRRDON”. Here you are confronted with two types of reaction: either
those who move with a slightly apologetic look or those who give you an empty, contemptuous look and move the fraction of an inch, if at all, in such a
way, that you must literally hug the walls to go through. By now, I am ready to
take my imaginary arrow out of its quiver and shoot them with my also imaginary
bow. But instead I just utter: “Do you mmmmind”???
While in my head I am screaming: "DO YOU MIND MOVING OUT OF MY FREAKING WAY, YOU BIG PIECE OF SH..T"? Yep, this thing is driving me nuuuuts. Survival
instinct…or maybe something shadier. Better not find out hey? The last thing I want now is to get in an altercation where my nemesis will be spraying little coronas at me. God forbid.
I
get my stuff as quickly as I can, forgetting half of them, with my brains working at the speed of sound.
Yes, quick some veggies, and the onions and garlic. Ok, fair enough, they are
vegetables too but they are only added for the taste – though lately I was told
by a pharmacist that they are excellent antibiotics – so I add quite a few of
them. You never know, the garlitosis might keep the good-for-nothing-rascal away. I slalom my way towards the dairy aisle, then rush to pick some frozen
fish – steering well clear of “fresh food” as I have no idea whose “Covid 19
hands has touched them, thank you very mmmuch. I scurry towards the household section in the vain hope of finding
some kitchen paper towels and some Dettol but the scroungers have passed before
me, most of the time, so I usually leave with empty hands. Soap and bleach will have to make do.
As soon as I am done,
I head to the cashier and try to keep as much distance as I can from everyone,
to no avail as, all of a sudden, there is some f..ing nutter almost on my back. I
dart my sternest look at the transgressor but I am wasting my precious time. My
face is hidden by my protecting (or not) scarf and glasses, and my
expression of discontent is completely lost under my burka. Then, I shoot… «heu, il faut maintenir
une distance d'au moins d’un mètre et demi”. Whomever it is, looks
at me rather perplexed and back to the floor, as if to make sense of my nonsense and calculate the distance, and then move idly away with that annoyed, haughty-royalty kind of look,
although the reminder of the minimal distance is bloody written all over the
place, “ YOU BIG MORON”.
You
can well imagine that by now, my nerves are so taught that whole Vivaldi violin concerto in A minor could be played on them. I am a
total wreck and I wish there were a trench I could hide in. This is, after all, our first virus World War. According to Bill Gates, there is more to come. I pay and dash out
trying not to bump into anyone. I head home, basically walking in the middle of
the streets dodging people resolutely walking tall, in straight lines, while I am boiling with
that scarf all over my face.
Step 4: I
get now back into the building. The entire ritual of not touching anything starts anew. The wriggling and wiggling through the doors and the
manoeuvers with my shoes and slippers are back to square one; but only, this
time, made much worse by the fact that I am more loaded than a donkey on its way up to Fira Town. So my
elbows, my rear end and my feet are doing most of the work.
Step 5 : I get into the apartment making sure that, at no point my
slippers touch either the hall floor or my most-likely infected shoes. I am using the tips of my toes and of my fingers for balance. and I can only conclude by the results that I would never make it as a contortionist... I
fail totally and miserably most of the time, of course, but by now I am way too exhausted to be angry, even at myself.
I then leave the door ajar, grab the wipes,
strategically left by the door, and franticly clean my shoes and keys –
not with the same wipes obviously 'cause, in case you have not yet
understood, this is WAR. A war of wits with the bloody invisible-revolting-ugly-spiky-killer. I carry the groceries in to the kitchen, making sure it does
not touch the rugs. Yeah, good luck washing those. One by one, I take the items out and clean them with Dettol
- my new bff, the one I do not need to keep any social distancing from. I throw
the fruits and vegetables in a wash basin with warm water and vinegar - hoping
to drown the little bastards - and place the other items away.
Time
to clean the kitchen counter tops and cupboards, every single door knob, water taps...
Step
5: I get rid of my clothes in the hall and put them in a closed bag
before they take their place in the washing machine. I run to the bathroom and
take a shower from head to toe, get clean comfortable clothes - which in itself is also a struggle as I realize that most of them are smart office garb - I fill the
bucket with water and Dettol and mop up the floor all around the house,
taking my OCD to a whole new height.
Ouf!!!
Three hours after I set out on this quest, I am totally bushed and totally adamant about the fact that the crossing of the Rubicon must have been a walk in the park compared to this. Now, seriously, I am truly contemplating the possibility of brushing up on my C. von Clausewitz's lessons.
You
know what? I think we should all get a knighthood for courage and prowess after
this. Ok, let's be a bit humble and settle for a chocolate medal of sorts. But I insist on a knighthood being bestowed upon the supermarket employees too. I mean, along with the medical staff.
In
the meantime, thank G..d for online courses and Netflix.
Shopping during Covid times
I
was never a great fan of grocery's shopping. Let’s face it guys, it is terribly
boring, a real drag. You go to the supermarket every week, mostly on Saturdays
of all days - when you are totally crushed by a long week's toil and it's packed with people - to buy the same things, which you put
in the same places so you can pick them up one at the time and cook the same
things ad nauseam. I bet you can picture my expression now.
If
I could rate groceries’ shopping amongst the domestic chores I am the least
keen on, it would come probably second last, just before vacuum cleaning.
That’s right, the exasperating noise and horrible smell - despite the frantic cleanings and
fragrance sticks shoved into the contraption - persist, no matter what one does. No point
telling me that yours does not smell because it bloody does. You just don't
realize it anymore. I cannot describe the feeling I get when I finally
unplug it. A mix of relief but also almost the need to kick it. Not very
reasonable, I concur, but that goes to show how deeply it gets to me. Be
reassured, I never did it, though I remain convinced that it would allow some
real steam out.
Now coming back to the grocery’s shopping, my second least appreciated household
chore, as it were. If this was my weekly ordeal before, now, under Covid 19, it
has positively become a most dangerous adventure, a total nightmare. It is
like preparing for war.
So
this is how it goes now:
Step
1: While preparing myself mentally for it, which may take a day or two, I chose the clothes I should wear knowing that it must be
washed immediately after, as well as the scarf I will wear to cover my mouth
and nose. In normal times, I take the thing I feel it's the nicest for that
day and occasion. The process has been totally upended now. I take the one I like the least
and it takes a bit of time to decide which one it is, of course. At this point in time, I have no trace of any vanity left in me. My hair is a mess and I can't even be bothered with make up. Anyway, what would be the point if my face is totally wrapped? Finally, I put on the
clothes, hang my bag on the entrance door knob, make sure I have my keys, my
phone and wallet - which I check a zillion times - wrap the scarf around my
face as tight as I can so it does not slip down at the first step, and place
the disinfectant wipes, strategically, just besides the door. Once I am all set,
I open the door and try to jump from my sleepers into the shoes, I have been
leaving outside, on the door mat. It is sometimes a bit of a tricky exercise and every now and then it is definitely a miss, which makes me swear
badly under my teeth. That is, presuming that I have not forgotten anything,
like the bin bag, for instance. If that is the case, I have to take my shoes off, go
inside the house and start the crazy protocol, all over again.
Step
2: I try to open the lift without so much as touching it,
using one of the cleansing wipes. This process goes on until I get out of the
building and there is a lot of wiggling going on in this process. Yeah, by the
time I get downstairs I am already f…ing tired and totally freaked out,
wondering if I have not touched something. It is like walking on a mine field.
Step
3: Once out of the building, I go to the nearest
supermarket, some 500 meters away. Before I set out, I find a public dustbin
where I throw the wipe and clean my hands - again and probably for the
hundredth time today, and it is only 11 am – with a pocket germicide. I
adjust the scarf one last time very diligently, despite my scepticism about its efficiency. Seemingly it only protects others, bringing all
my flaming efforts to nought, at least for me.
I start my way zigzagging all the way down to the supermarket to avoid some people, who obviously do not give a monkeys about the virus, or have not been following the same news as I. There is where I start believing that we must leave in paralle universes. They harbour a defiant attitude of who are not afraid at all of the invisible killer. Noooo, that is for wimps like me. I must confess though, that, deep down, I admire their poise and nonchalance because right now, me, I am a right mess. Yeah, I know... boy, I hate them too.
I start my way zigzagging all the way down to the supermarket to avoid some people, who obviously do not give a monkeys about the virus, or have not been following the same news as I. There is where I start believing that we must leave in paralle universes. They harbour a defiant attitude of who are not afraid at all of the invisible killer. Noooo, that is for wimps like me. I must confess though, that, deep down, I admire their poise and nonchalance because right now, me, I am a right mess. Yeah, I know... boy, I hate them too.
At
this point, I am already dreading the supermarket chapter. There I will be
faced with the intrepid and ruthless ones, those who think that the social
distancing does not apply in the supermarket, of all places. People talking to
each other with their children around and completely oblivious that other
people must also circulate and preferably at a minimum distance of 1.5
m; bunch of NITWITS.
At this point, my restlessness is hitting the roof and quickly metamorphosing into a kind of seething anger and, with an exasperated look, I launch a dry “PARRRRDON”. Here you are confronted with two types of reaction: either those who move with a slightly apologetic look or those who give you an empty, contemptuous look and move the fraction of an inch, if at all, in such a way, that you must literally hug the walls to go through. By now, I am ready to take my imaginary arrow out of its quiver and shoot them with my also imaginary bow. But instead I just utter: “Do you mmmmind”??? While in my head I am screaming: "DO YOU MIND MOVING OUT OF MY FREAKING WAY, YOU BIG PIECE OF SH..T"? Yep, this thing is driving me nuuuuts. Survival instinct…or maybe something shadier. Better not find out hey? The last thing I want now is to get in an altercation where my nemesis will be spraying little coronas at me. God forbid.
At this point, my restlessness is hitting the roof and quickly metamorphosing into a kind of seething anger and, with an exasperated look, I launch a dry “PARRRRDON”. Here you are confronted with two types of reaction: either those who move with a slightly apologetic look or those who give you an empty, contemptuous look and move the fraction of an inch, if at all, in such a way, that you must literally hug the walls to go through. By now, I am ready to take my imaginary arrow out of its quiver and shoot them with my also imaginary bow. But instead I just utter: “Do you mmmmind”??? While in my head I am screaming: "DO YOU MIND MOVING OUT OF MY FREAKING WAY, YOU BIG PIECE OF SH..T"? Yep, this thing is driving me nuuuuts. Survival instinct…or maybe something shadier. Better not find out hey? The last thing I want now is to get in an altercation where my nemesis will be spraying little coronas at me. God forbid.
I
get my stuff as quickly as I can, forgetting half of them, with my brains working at the speed of sound.
Yes, quick some veggies, and the onions and garlic. Ok, fair enough, they are
vegetables too but they are only added for the taste – though lately I was told
by a pharmacist that they are excellent antibiotics – so I add quite a few of
them. You never know, the garlitosis might keep the good-for-nothing-rascal away. I slalom my way towards the dairy aisle, then rush to pick some frozen
fish – steering well clear of “fresh food” as I have no idea whose “Covid 19
hands has touched them, thank you very mmmuch. I scurry towards the household section in the vain hope of finding
some kitchen paper towels and some Dettol but the scroungers have passed before
me, most of the time, so I usually leave with empty hands. Soap and bleach will have to make do.
As soon as I am done, I head to the cashier and try to keep as much distance as I can from everyone, to no avail as, all of a sudden, there is some f..ing nutter almost on my back. I dart my sternest look at the transgressor but I am wasting my precious time. My face is hidden by my protecting (or not) scarf and glasses, and my expression of discontent is completely lost under my burka. Then, I shoot… «heu, il faut maintenir une distance d'au moins d’un mètre et demi”. Whomever it is, looks at me rather perplexed and back to the floor, as if to make sense of my nonsense and calculate the distance, and then move idly away with that annoyed, haughty-royalty kind of look, although the reminder of the minimal distance is bloody written all over the place, “ YOU BIG MORON”.
As soon as I am done, I head to the cashier and try to keep as much distance as I can from everyone, to no avail as, all of a sudden, there is some f..ing nutter almost on my back. I dart my sternest look at the transgressor but I am wasting my precious time. My face is hidden by my protecting (or not) scarf and glasses, and my expression of discontent is completely lost under my burka. Then, I shoot… «heu, il faut maintenir une distance d'au moins d’un mètre et demi”. Whomever it is, looks at me rather perplexed and back to the floor, as if to make sense of my nonsense and calculate the distance, and then move idly away with that annoyed, haughty-royalty kind of look, although the reminder of the minimal distance is bloody written all over the place, “ YOU BIG MORON”.
You
can well imagine that by now, my nerves are so taught that whole Vivaldi violin concerto in A minor could be played on them. I am a
total wreck and I wish there were a trench I could hide in. This is, after all, our first virus World War. According to Bill Gates, there is more to come. I pay and dash out
trying not to bump into anyone. I head home, basically walking in the middle of
the streets dodging people resolutely walking tall, in straight lines, while I am boiling with
that scarf all over my face.
Step 4: I
get now back into the building. The entire ritual of not touching anything starts anew. The wriggling and wiggling through the doors and the
manoeuvers with my shoes and slippers are back to square one; but only, this
time, made much worse by the fact that I am more loaded than a donkey on its way up to Fira Town. So my
elbows, my rear end and my feet are doing most of the work.
Step 5 : I get into the apartment making sure that, at no point my
slippers touch either the hall floor or my most-likely infected shoes. I am using the tips of my toes and of my fingers for balance. and I can only conclude by the results that I would never make it as a contortionist... I
fail totally and miserably most of the time, of course, but by now I am way too exhausted to be angry, even at myself.
I then leave the door ajar, grab the wipes, strategically left by the door, and franticly clean my shoes and keys – not with the same wipes obviously 'cause, in case you have not yet understood, this is WAR. A war of wits with the bloody invisible-revolting-ugly-spiky-killer. I carry the groceries in to the kitchen, making sure it does not touch the rugs. Yeah, good luck washing those. One by one, I take the items out and clean them with Dettol - my new bff, the one I do not need to keep any social distancing from. I throw the fruits and vegetables in a wash basin with warm water and vinegar - hoping to drown the little bastards - and place the other items away.
I then leave the door ajar, grab the wipes, strategically left by the door, and franticly clean my shoes and keys – not with the same wipes obviously 'cause, in case you have not yet understood, this is WAR. A war of wits with the bloody invisible-revolting-ugly-spiky-killer. I carry the groceries in to the kitchen, making sure it does not touch the rugs. Yeah, good luck washing those. One by one, I take the items out and clean them with Dettol - my new bff, the one I do not need to keep any social distancing from. I throw the fruits and vegetables in a wash basin with warm water and vinegar - hoping to drown the little bastards - and place the other items away.
Time
to clean the kitchen counter tops and cupboards, every single door knob, water taps...
Step
5: I get rid of my clothes in the hall and put them in a closed bag
before they take their place in the washing machine. I run to the bathroom and
take a shower from head to toe, get clean comfortable clothes - which in itself is also a struggle as I realize that most of them are smart office garb - I fill the
bucket with water and Dettol and mop up the floor all around the house,
taking my OCD to a whole new height.
Ouf!!!
Three hours after I set out on this quest, I am totally bushed and totally adamant about the fact that the crossing of the Rubicon must have been a walk in the park compared to this. Now, seriously, I am truly contemplating the possibility of brushing up on my C. von Clausewitz's lessons.
You
know what? I think we should all get a knighthood for courage and prowess after
this. Ok, let's be a bit humble and settle for a chocolate medal of sorts. But I insist on a knighthood being bestowed upon the supermarket employees too. I mean, along with the medical staff.
In
the meantime, thank G..d for online courses and Netflix.
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