The shopping ninja COVID Tales 4

Shopping at a supermarket has never really floated my boat. I find the lighting, music and ambience grindingly annoying. Everything is strategically placed to tempt you to buy lollies and cola. If you are a long-term shopping sufferer like me, you know that the biggest lie is that prices are going ‘down’. Many times, my intelligence feels assaulted when sneakily another product has 250g missing. A case of down-sized, but for the same price - why would you want to buy an empty bag of nuts? 

Shopping in 2020 has an added dimension – mental hoops to jump through like an insane American ninja course. 

How to deal with COVID 19 at a shopping centre? 

Now all the viciously-fighting nut jobs are wallowing in their toilet paper at home, normal people like you and I are trying to do their best to shop as safely as possible. This is how I do it:

First of all, there is the matter of who does the shopping in your household. To decrease the risk of contamination, our household has decided that only one person will do it. Make it the youngest, fittest (and better looking) person without any respiratory issues.

The time you choose to go to the shops is absolutely crucial. I can’t fathom the amount of people I’ve seen streaming out of the shopping centre during the day – like a massive QLD bat exodus! May I remind you, we are squarely amidst a pandemic! The supermarkets are open early and until 9pm. Dinner time is when it is ‘graveyard’ dead. In fact, it is so quiet any accidental fart would echo around the shelves unnoticed – the odd, lone customer would hopefully wear a mask anyway.

Bat Exodus in the Atherton Tablelands

Your next problem is choosing the trolley. At the beginning of the pandemic we were told they were cleaned by a friendly person at the entrance of the store. Now you can tell whether they have been disinfected by the sticky substance that is dripping off the handle. It's hard to release your grip. I choose the trolley with the wonkiest wheel in the hope that nobody else has used it. Another wipe never does any harm.

Everything in the shop, I pretend has been sneezed and snotted on all over by an infected carrier of this current, dreaded lurgy. Therefore, one wet-wipe of the disinfected variety is safely in my fist for wet keeping (the alcohol on the wipe dries very quickly). Every time – yes it takes discipline – a new item is touched the little baby towel pops out of its hidey-hole and wipes the hands that touched the snot-soaked item. If you haven't been able to fight off the crazy, hoarding herd and secured yourself some wipes, keep a bottle of water in your car, soap and a towel. Washing your hands in a carpark is a novel idea and it prevents you from entering the germ palace of doom - the public toilet. 

I can never stop touching my face. I tried - I failed - I gave up, but other than tying my hands behind my back, I have found no solution other than washing my hands or using hand-sanitiser  -  it seems like forever.

Before I go to the shop, I know exactly what I want and need. A large list and a pen travel along with me on my wonky trolley. The less time I spend in this brightly lit chook incubator looking for stuff the better! I only go to the shops once a week. Every two weeks would be better, but found that my carrot(s) would not stay erect for that long.

I no longer rummage - touch it and it's sold.

Negotiating a path through an aisle is an experience these days – the 1.5m rule wreaking havoc with my plans to make it to the end of the aisle. I often find my way blocked by a lurking zombie. Like Smiegle, desiring a ring, I creep through the empty shelves whispering

 ‘where issss my precioussss ssssani for me handsssseeessss’. 

I don’t wear a mask – maybe there aren’t any on the shelves to buy – maybe I vaguely remember the government telling me that masks are not necessary unless you have caught the super bug. Maybe this is my last ‘red-neck’ stand against the virus. 

My once a week shop is of huge proportions and I need help! The checkout person, however, no longer helps out. They still touch your goodies, but are no longer able to bag it for you even though you have hung up the recycled bag I so often forget to bring. Strange viral policy don’t you think? So, I put a couple of items on the belt, then jog past them to the other side of the till, catch them, place them in the bag and run back to the trolley and repeat until mission accomplished. I tell the youngster behind the counter that I run 5km every day so I’m fit enough to go shopping. 

Exhausted, I return to the car late at night. I tell every imaginary mugger in this deserted, dimly lit car park, that I have Corona (not really). Come and get it!

Close to my bed time, I come home and clean my steering wheel, doorknobs and anything else I've touched and wash my hands yet again. I face up to the task of disinfecting every bunch of spring onions, scrubbing the skin off my mushrooms with soapy water and sanitising every darn banana just purchased. The same with all the cold items. They will get a late-night bath, then are placed into the fridge immediately.

I chuck the clothes I was wearing in the wash and hop straight into the shower where my hands are the priority and then my face.

And finally, all non-perishables will sit around in a naughty quarantine corner of my place for 24 hours. Having run out of the yummy chocolate biscuits, I find myself gravitating towards the forbidden bags that stand there 'in iso' and stare. It’s torture. 

Shall I risk it?