Brave new world

It had been seven days, and I would have stayed out of stores longer if we hadn’t run out of milk, but the inevitable happened and I had to make a trip to my local grocery.

I had been saving up a lot of errands that required going into public buildings so I could do them all at once. My list this week included the vet, the hardware store, the post office, the grocery store, and a neighbour’s house to drop off some supplies.

Despite staying out of shops, I have been outside every day. That’s one of the perks of living in the country—we can still get out for a walk or mess about in the back yard. But I hadn’t been in enclosed spaces with people other than my kids for a week. I had no idea how greatly the experience would impact me physically and mentally.

I have been reducing my visits to public buildings. I used to go to the grocery store every day, same was true of the post office—and I’d probably run to the Dollar Store for craft supplies, notebooks or some other esoteric household product. All that stopped mid-March.

As we entered a new month, I started my voyage into civilization at the veterinary clinic. I called before my visit to determine what product I actually needed and to find out what their operating protocol was at this time. One person/pet at a time in the office, which is a very small space.

When I arrived at the vet’s, I tried to gauge from the number of cars in the vicinity if there were other clients in the office. But there are so many offices in that area it was impossible to tell what vehicle belonged to what door. I cautiously opened the vet’s door, stuck my head into the outer office and surveyed the space. The receptionist who I had talked to on the phone, chuckled a bit at my surveillance, and invited me in.

I quickly picked up my flea and tick medicine for my dog. Perhaps a little early but I wanted to beat the rush when people suddenly realized spring had sprung and a run on such pet medicine might begin to look like the one we’ve been experiencing with toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

Next stop, grocery store. I met the customer counter outside the entrance; there was one person waiting to go inside. Only 15 people are allowed in the store at any time. I decided to do another errand and return. On to the Hardware store.

Again, I had called ahead. I wanted cat flea and tick medicine, see above for the reason why, duct tape because in a real emergency you need duct tape not toilet paper, and a bird feeder; the kind that sticks to your window with suction cups. We had had one of these before, won it at the Easter Hospital Bazaar. It was so entertaining to watch the birds come to the window. The cats’ reaction to these feathered friends was hilarious. The birds were only spared from the cats’ claws and teeth by a pane of glass and they seemed to taunt the cats with their invincibility. Watching this front room theatre would surely lift our self-isolation blues.

Staff had gotten the things I had asked about on the phone out and ready for me at the cash; even though I had not asked them to do so. I doubled up on the cat medicine; I had run out of this before and as we have no idea how long this new normal will last; I thought I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Back to the grocery store. Of course now, instead of one person waiting to enter the store, there were three. Most of us stood outside, separated by the required 2-metre physical distance. Thankfully, the terminology on this has changed in the past week from social distancing to physical distancing as social distance is the last thing we need at a time like this. I appreciated the wait. Gave me a chance to talk to people.

In less than 10 minutes I was able to get into the store. Upon entry, I moved around the store sticking to my list faithfully with the exception of adding a few more fresh vegetables. But it wasn’t a normal experience. I played a version of supermarket sweep, that game where you put as much in your cart in 60 seconds as you can and you get it for free—except these groceries aren’t free and rushing through the store is a strategy to avoid being around people.

For the most part shoppers were very careful about maintaining physical distance. There were a few who paid no heed to the lines marked on the floor by painter’s tape to indicate where they should stand to comply with the 2-metre distancing protocol. In my less than 20 minutes in the store, I could feel my irritation grow with those who weren’t making an effort to maintain their distance.

Next stop was a neighbour’s house where I dropped off supplies I had picked up for her at the grocery store. No contact—I didn’t even see her; left the bag on the step.

On to the post office, only five people allowed entry at any time. The vestibule where the P.O. Boxes are housed was empty, but I could hear the workers through the wall. Very odd to hear but not see people—at least here. Country living means there isn’t much living in apartment buildings where you live with the sounds of invisible people all the time.

And that was the last stop.

The grocery store had stressed me out, being that close to people. And these days stress gives me a raging headache; a legacy effect of the concussion I sustained over a year ago. By the time I got out of the post office, I also had a sore throat. Two days later neither symptom has fully subsided, but time is beginning to calm them down.  

Luckily for me, life hasn’t changed that much under the current COVID-19 state of emergency. I have always worked from home, always enjoyed my own company and my kids’. The biggest and hardest change for me in this brave new world is not seeing my Da. I call the house almost every day—we talk about birds, squirrels, and snow.

And now I know that going out to do everyday errands will make me so stressed I’ll express physical symptoms. I wasn’t expecting that.

I lived in Asia during SARS (2003) and Bird Flu (2005); and I didn’t feel impacted other than that my favourite Khao Man Gai restaurant closed. This feels much different—I have my kids and the parents to worry about. It’s a greater mental weight to carry.

I will continue to work through each day, find things for the kids to do and write some little ditties for my own amusement. Hopefully the birds will find the new feeder soon and we’ll have that to keep us occupied too. I’ll be trying to stretch out the time between grocery store visits, which will greatly reduce my ice cream consumption—I’ll count that as a COVID-19 silver lining. And I’ll keep looking for the bright side because there are always a few.