I lost my cherub-like demeanor today. It crept up slowly. I went to one of my favorite bookstores/nerdy stores today. I had been looking forward to it all day, as they recently reopened (partially). Shortly upon entering, I was told “May I help you find anything? We’re closing in ten minutes.” I smiled politely (pointless behind my mask) and said “No thank you” and proceeded to find the saint to leave. Then another worker came up to me:
“WE’RE CLOSING IN FIVE MINUTES. GET YOUR CRAP AND GET OUT, YOU LITTLE PUNK!!”
Ahem. I exaggerate a little, but that’s how the message filtered into my brain. Sniff.
Things got “better” after this. I went to Trader Joe’s to see if they had any pickle popcorn in (it’s seasonal, and it’s so delicious that I’m pretty sure it’s a main course in heaven). That was a no. We went to another store right before this. Google told us they closed at eight. A worker let us know they closed at seven. Just another time Google has lied to me.
Google, what have I done to you to deserve such harm and neglect??
We went to another store and ended up leaving before checking out, because the store didn’t have very good spatial distancing procedures going. (I like the little taped X’s on the ground, telling you where to stand, thank you very much). I left my clearance DBZ trading cards and octopus bag on a cart. Yes I’m an adult; why do you ask?
Then we decided to knock out grocery shopping. HAH! Apparently no one wants to wear masks anymore. Look, I’m a vegan. Vegan = plant based. Got it? I spend most of my time in the produce section. I don’t toss potatoes willy nilly into the cart. No, no my friend. Only the best vegetables and fruit come home to the Arcian household to be made into divine culinary creations the likes of which have never been seen before. Yum yum.
I was standing by the mushrooms (a most beloved vegetable; and the ASL sign for it is adorable, by the way) when two women just sidle up besides me. Not one mask in-between them. Their faces were entirely naked. And they just start gabbing.
I snapped. Inwardly. I grabbed my two beautiful eggplants, whipped my hair around, and found my cart with the saint nearby.
“Friggin people!” I exclaimed under my breath. “Give me SPACE!”
I would like to point out I was happy to share the produce area and was waiting my turn when needed. I didn’t rush anyone who needed time to pick the right cucumber, and I didn’t take an hour choosing my broccoli crowns, either. I understand how these things go. 👑
Then we came home. Driving into our neighborhood, we saw one of our neighbors was hosting a party. Again. Apparently they all are immortals and will never die of a virus, or carry one on. Clearly they are blessed to have been bestowed such gifts and qualities.
Note to self: stop by their house tomorrow. Ask for everyone’s autograph. Paint a smile on my mask so they can see my nonverbals. Check! ✔️
Six. Feet. Apart. Wear a mask (if you medically can; I understand there are some exceptions. Being a bonehead isn’t one.) This virus ain’t over until a vaccine is made. Or until I shoot the next interloper who decides to stand next to me with my handy dandy potato gun.
But that would be a waste of a good french fry. Pass the ketchup bottle, wouldn’t you?
Keep safe, everyone. Avoid the boneheads.
🍟🥔🍆 😷 🥦👑👸