Yesterday was a reminder of what a petty, grumpy-pants I can be. Fortunately, I kept most of it to myself so the rest of the world could go on believing in the warm and thoughtful outer persona I paint on as camouflage. I’m using the fact that I woke up at 5:30 and never fought my way back to sleep as a mitigating circumstance.
I was dressed and masked by 8:10 sharp at the grocery store in the (mistaken) hope that trucks rolled into Publix at night and the shelves would be groaning with toilet paper and anti-bacterial wipes. Nope.
TP and wipe-less, I did my shopping, although the mask (my first time out with it) was really distracting and kept climbing up to my eyes. Also, the arrows on the floor at the beginning of each aisle kept throwing me off. Apparently, the traffic flow is now one-way and when I’d want to skip an aisle, not having a need for baby food or prescriptions, there’d I’d be, looking like an anarchist as I aimed my cart up a down aisle.
I was happy to see the checkout person was now safe behind her plexiglass shield, but the 82ish little man bagging was not. Seeing him busily loading a second carriage with my order, I smiled (pointless behind the mask) and said chirpily, “It would be great if you could get it all in one carriage.” Not an illogical request since I just had.
He looked at me and said, point-blank, “I can’t”
Well, okay then. I guess I wouldn’t be very cheery either if I had to bag all day with no protection from the public, so I tamped down my uncharitable thoughts. Almost.
At my car I thanked him and unloaded the many, many plastic bags that I knew would likely slither and fall over, unlike my cloth bags that now are frowned upon. I could see why he needed two carriages. When I got home, I counted 26 bags. This was mainly due to his often putting in only one item per bag: orange juice – one bag. Large baking soda – one bag. Arrgh.
At home, groceries away, I settled on our small porch for a much-needed nap. Just as had I lowered my paperback and glasses, I jumped at, “Hi, Marty!”
Our unit is first-floor, and there on the other side of the screen was my next- door neighbor, eager for a chat. I exchanged pleasantries, then gathered up my book, glasses, drink, and dog, and headed inside to the couch as quickly as I decently could.
I was soon asleep, but after about seven minutes my phone dinged with a message, waking me up. My neighbor. “Hi Marty!” She had noticed we’d had an air-conditioning guy over, and etc, etc.
This was beginning to feel like whack-a-mole.
Late afternoon we had an actual social engagement. We were very excited.
We’d arranged to meet fellow complex friends for open-air BYOB (and chair) cocktails six feet apart on a big grassy patch. We hadn’t seen them in over a month and had just settled into a good chat when guess-who appeared.
My previous next-door neighbors had been somewhat distant and I hadn’t been sorry to see them go. Beware what you wish for.
Two days ago, I was so miserable that my daughter (after hearing me rant on the phone) called my middle son, who sent over his dog to stay with me for a few days. A long walk in the woods with the dog improved my spirits immensely. I swear, this dog is the only thing saving my sanity these days.ReplyDelete
No man has a greater love for his mom than one willing to share his dog with her.ReplyDelete
Oh my. I hope the neighbors get the hint that you want a little space! I guess the one-way grocery aisles are supposed to reduce the likelihood that people will have to pass each other (and stray into each other's personal space)?ReplyDelete
That BYOB and chair social 6 foot distancing event sounds like fun. And how kind of that son to send her his dog for a visit. I think my dog Bounce is helping save my sanity.ReplyDelete
'the warm and thoughtful outer persona I paint on as camouflage.' I am having to apply that paint in humungous quantities at the moment. Spackfilla quantities.ReplyDelete
Love the distant drinking.
Well, with that kind of day I would be very crabby.ReplyDelete
That's kind of you, Red.Delete
I haven't been shopping yet in the directional grocery. I wonder how my helter skelter grocery will even do it.ReplyDelete
You might need to sit inside with your doors locked until "Hi Marty" gets the message. My upstairs neighbour is similar, she loves to "just say hello and how are you" then chat for three hours. she isn't home right now, was In Germany visiting family and is now still there because of the virus and no flights out. She's okay, I had a text message from her last week.ReplyDelete
One can be excused a little grumpiness by times. At least I hope so because . . .ReplyDelete
My solitary walks help immeasurably. Wish I had someone who would lend me a pet! You have every right to be crabby, BTW. It sure made for a good post. :-)ReplyDelete
Yes, I've thought of loaning Mamie out, except the Florida heat turns her into a slug who moves at the pace of, well, a slug.Delete
those plastic bags are so strong it just irritates me no end when the baggers only put one item in them though it could be that your bagger was so frail that he could only lift a bag with one item.ReplyDelete
I was a good 6 inches taller and and ten years younger. Bless his own crabby heart.Delete