November 2024
I lived on a rural homestead during the Covid pandemic, so I didn’t see a lot of the associated turmoil and nonsense it generated. At first. One day I drove into town to purchase some groceries and supplies. One of my stops was a local organic food and products store. The owner was an old hippie who, while a little quirky, seemed to know his stuff and his products. He was also the only supplier of organic products in this tiny town. The door was chained shut, but I could see a small line of people at the side of the building. I got in line and waited, reading a book on my phone’s Kindle, not paying attention to what was going on in front of me.
When it was my turn, I walked up to the window. I heard muffled screaming and saw the highly agitated owner gesticulating his surgical glove clad hands wildly from behind the glass window. All I could see of his face was his eyes bulging out from over the top of his mask. His mask was covered with wet spots from the spittle flying out of his mouth. I scanned the area around me. If the pandemic was this bad here, surely there must be bodies littering the area. I saw none.
He opened the window a crack. “Get behind the line!” he raged. He had marked a line on the ground in red duct tape, about 6 feet from the window. I promptly obeyed and then shouted at the top of my lungs what product I wanted. He disappeared for a minute and then returned, placing the product in a paper bag. Plastic would have been a better anti-viral precaution, but I guess it wasn’t environmentally friendly.
He screamed something at me, but the combination of glass and mask separating us made it impossible for me to discern anything he was trying to communicate, other than a high state of agitation. He held up a hand-written sign that read, “Show me your credit card.” He was unable to read the card from six feet away. I guess the distance of his demarcation line still had some kinks that needed to be worked out. Irritated, he beckoned me closer. I held up the card and he wrote down the information, then frantically waved me back behind the red line.
After some minutes, the window slid open just far enough for him to toss out the paper bag containing what I had purchased. The bag landed short of the 6-foot medical security line, so I would again have to violate the perimeter and earn more disdain. A crumpled piece of paper followed the bag and the window slammed shut. I picked up the paper and saw it contained my credit card information. How conscientious of him.
He anxiously waved me off so that the next potential disease carrier could step behind the line and make a purchase. It was the last time I ever saw him, because it was the last time I gave his establishment any business.