The New Normal (Continued)

Day by day, our "normal" world continues to reveal stranger and stranger realities.  This morning, I had to stop in Bryson's, our local grocery store, for some essentials (and yes, they had packages of toilet paper!) and a woman in the next checkout aisle was wearing a mask.  Was she protecting herself from the possibility of coronovirus particles in the air?  Or was she protecting the rest of us from her because she was already sick?  In Dusty's, the little grocery store on the Dillard Road, I was greeted by Lou gesturing to two boxes of latex gloves on the counter, which all customers are asked to don upon entering - black (large) for men, white for women.  It felt strange to latex-fumble in my wallet for some cash.  "Are you still taking cash?" I asked, and he said they were so far.

And what is even more amazing is how quickly all of this has happened.  Two weeks ago today, we had just arrived back in Highlands the previous day and we drove to Clayton for lunch at Rumor Hazit restaurant and grocery shopping at Ingles, where we stocked up as we normally would after having returned from two months out of Town.  There had been plenty of toilet paper on the shelves.  Had I only known how quickly those shelves would become empty, in only a day or two, I suppose I, too, might have stocked up a little more.  But when does that cross the line to "hoarding?"  At Bryson's, there was a sign on the toilet paper shelf limiting single rolls to eight per customer; I carried four rolls to the checkout.  "You can have eight," the checkout girl said.  "That's OK.  Somebody else might need some."  That made me feel a little saintly, and I only hope others will do the same as those supplies which disappeared so suddenly gradually begin to re-appear.

Our mail was forwarded to Atlantic Beach while we were gone, and there has been quite a delay in receiving the last few straggling pieces of mail which were sent there and now are being returned to Highlands.  We received a local newspaper this week from nearly a month ago, filled with stories of school sports and activities all over Town, everybody so blissfully unaware of what was to come.  In the same way, issues of the New Yorker have been drifting in from what, if I were a science fiction writer, I might call something like "The Before Time."  The first few pages were filled, as they always are, with all of the concerts, plays, movies, art exhibitions, and other cultural activities that people in a big city so freely and widely enjoy.  This week's issue had no such items listed - who knows when we might be able to enjoy a symphony orchestra perform again?  The latest cover art, simply titled "Grand Central Terminal," said it all.

The pollen count is very high, too, higher than usual, and I have been suffering with a tight chest and stuffed sinuses, to the extent that I Googled several articles, such as Allergies Vs. Coronavirus:  Here's How to Tell the Difference.  I compared symptoms with Lee Zoellner at Highlands Outdoor Tool this morning when I picked up the chainsaw I had left for sharpening.  "They've been awful!" he said.  "And Laura, too!  It made me wonder if I was getting this thing."  His wife Laura works at our local nursing facility, the Eckerd Living Center, which is under lock-down; Laura has to have her temperature taken before entering.  "Me, too," I said.  "Except that I don't have a fever, and I always get allergies this time of year."  Besides, I thought, I ran six miles Saturday (probably not the wisest thing to do in medium-high pollen conditions) and I continue to work out here at home.

I told Lee that I was afraid I might sneeze or cough in a grocery store, causing a panic, perhaps even a stampede of frightened people, clamping handkerchiefs over their faces, knocking over displays and shoving shopping carts aside, all trying to escape that elderly man over in the canned vegetable aisle, spreading infection wildly through the air.