There is an employee who hands out carts at thegrocery storenow.
We stagger ourselves where we can.
Were less than two feet apart.
Porcorex / Getty Images
Only the employee and I are wearingmasks.
It was social, it got me out of the house, and of course, it had food.
Many of my food-shopping trips used to involve both.
Money couldnt buy me happiness, but it could buy me dark chocolate with caramel.
I didnt come from a past in which grocery stores were a place to enjoy.
There was plenty of sale-shopping and coupon-clipping in my childhood.
Maybe thats why I grew to love grocery stores so much as an adult.
Id buy some; Id window-shop the others.
It was fun just to look.
More than that, it was good to see people.
What were they looking forward to on their next day off?
How had the crowd been so far that day?
Some people had co-working spaces; I had the pasta aisle.
These are the small things I miss.
In late March I made my first trip to the store while thenew coronaviruspandemic was officially in full swing.
The toilet paper shelf was ominously bare (guess who was down to her last few rolls?
), as were the shelves fordisinfectants.
Paper printouts announced that in-demand items would be limited to two per person.
No one I saw was wearing a mask.
fear?and I took them off.
There would be no six-foot distancing in the narrow aisles, I realized.
It didnt seem possible to implement the strict measures Id been reading (and reporting) about.
Meanwhile, thinkingDont touch your face, dont touch your face, dont touch your face.
I didnt linger over chevre and brie.
There was no scanning shelves for new brands to try or flavors I hadnt considered.
After weeks in the house, I loved the casual friendliness.
Then I immediately felt guilty for not having stepped back and chanced rudeness to get to better distance myself.
At the checkout counter, plexiglass dividers had been installed to shield cashiers and customers from each other.
Ahead of me, a man ducked his head around one to ask the cashier a question.
When he left, the cashier shook her head with the grocery bagger.
I got back to my car, unloaded the groceries, andsanitized my handsbefore touching the steering wheel.
Had I done everything in the right order?
And still, the whole trip felt as though I was dancing with my own panic.
A week and a half later, I had to go back to the store.
Some of the cashiers wore masks; many didnt.
I felt silly, stupid.
Its not even an act of fear.
Social distancing is an act of love.
I used to attempt to love my community in public spheres like the grocery store.
I chatted with strangers and acquaintances, I made eye contact, I smiled whenever I could.
I want the curve in my community to not only flatten but descend.
Ill be the one asking too many questions of the cheesemonger.
My basket will be full.
My heart will be too.
