Mission to secure essential supplies...

            …that’s what we call it now, since “running out for groceries” is way too tame. I don’t remember ever having Jonathan say, “Be careful” as I left to go food shopping before. I brought a bottle of hand sanitizer, which I used liberally, wiping down my cart handle in the parking lot before I began.         
            “Is that at least 60%?” asked a Hannaford employee, gathering carts.
            I read the label – “65% alcohol,” I told her.
            “Oh, good for you. A lot of ‘em are under 60%, and that doesn’t help.”
            A sign at the door asked shoppers to maintain the 6-feet rule. I only saw one facemask, but shoppers looked serious, gazes cast downward, as though eye contact might spread the contagion. I worried about touching the mangoes and avocados to check for ripeness. The entire experience felt clandestine, like I was breaking rules to even be there, hoping to not get caught.
            I felt like a pariah at the self-check-out, since a Hannaford employee hovered nearby, sanitizing solution in hand, poised to erase my filth.
            All employees, though, were exceedingly friendly when asked anything. I thanked as many as I could.
            Supplies procured. Hands re-sanitized. Back to the bunker.
 
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 210: 200 words, TOTAL = 34,513; 25,487 remaining