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?  

The Ghost Bus: COVID Tales 3

I absolutely fluked myself a job as a school bus driver only two weeks before shutdown. It is still possible in Australia to drop your CV, in person, somewhere and get a job. Within a week I am fully trained and was let loose on an unsuspected town. If you sat behind me, I must apologise for the slowest, snail pace and the hold up of traffic. I was studying the map. The new turning circle a nightmare as I flattened many a kerb.

Seeing the world shut down around me, I expected to be laid off from a job I only just started, but after a staff meeting the big boss explained to us that our jobs provide an essential service to the community.

The kids were a handful at first, but we soon got to know each other. We were singing songs, playing "I spy" and I challenged them to count backwards from 60 to blast off at the start of every trip – great fun.

After our prime minister, Scott Morrison allowed parents to keep their children home due to 'the virus', numbers started dwindling. From 20+ little creatures to the odd few, to a completely empty bus within a week.

At times it was simply spooky during my school round. The broad streets of Hervey Bay mainly deserted – not a school kid in sight. The low-bottom vehicle I was driving made creaky, breathing and groaning-like flying Dutchman noises. A broom, stuck in behind the driver’s seat, dislodged itself and fell forward – tapping me on the shoulder. I nearly jumped through the emergency hatch.

This is not how the bus driver life is supposed to be. I am sure of it. Creepy noises are supposed to be drowned out by happy excited kids’. The broom handle on my shoulder should have been dislodged by a naughty child and not appear suddenly like a 'Freddy Kruger' tap on the shoulder.

Where's Freddy?

I could hear the same feelings reflected in the crackling chatter on the hand-held radio. A lot of silent periods mixed with subdued voices when low numbers were announced to the depot. Zero a common number.

Some days driving this ghost bus put me in such a lone bubble, locked in my own head space – surviving! I wonder if I may or may not have driven past some kids waiting to board.

The bus company encouraged social-distancing and did a great job disinfecting the vehicle. They kindly provided wipes and hand sani. Management stayed away from the drivers as much as they could using the CB or phone to make contact. At first my colleagues wanted to shake my hand to welcome a new driver as normally would be the custom. It was hard to reject the warm handshakes offered, but times had changed to Covid times. Within days everyone kept their distance, circling around the oncoming co-worker with room to spare.

During those early days of lock down, I felt like I was in some hyper panic mode, while gliding through an apocalyptic, infected world. It made my skin crawl. 

But things change…..

Recent research found that children have a very low rate of spreading Covid-19 to others. In fact, they described children as the "dead ends" of Corona. It probably is the only appropriate time to refer to children as "dead ends". Isn’t this one of the inadvertent, little gems of this Covid world? Reading this article was a massive relief to me and I felt a lot less 'at risk'.

The children started to return to the buses. At first it was mainly the kids of essential workers, but then others. The happy chitter-chatter sounding once more through the empty cabin.

Voices on the radio waves started changing too. The banter came back among the drivers and an unofficial competition erupted to see who 'took the chocolates' for the most number of kids on board the bus.

After having time to think about the unusual 'essential worker' situation I found myself in during these crazy times, I can't help feeling just a little bit of pride.

Here ends this story of the unusual that became the normal. 

As for the ghosts, I am still in therapy. 

The End

Ghostly bits


Please keep on social distancing and continue washing those hands.

The article I read about children vs COVID-19 can be found on the following link www.sbs.com 

A heartfelt thankyou to all the essential workers around the world who put their lives at risk every day for us.

A heartfelt thankyou to all the people who are not in essential jobs, but are doing their bit by staying home. Don't underestimate your importance.