Supermarket Sweep - Corona Style
My alarm scared me awake at 6:00am. Grabbing my ball cap and brushing my teeth, I snuck out into darkness sacrificing caffeine for the sake of my family. The 'Mission Impossible' I chose to accept was a Supermarket Sweep of Safeway in the wee hours of the morning for my family of six, Corona Style.
The empty parking lot at 6:20am was like the Twilight Zone. I breathed a sigh of relief, grabbed my grocery bags and headed for the door with the big yellow sign that read 'Due to Coronavirus, Safeway has revised store hours from 7am to midnight'. Damn! Even Starbucks was locked inside.
Reading the headlines of the day back in my warm car, car headlights heightened my sense of urgency. People were lining up at the north entrance sporting facemasks and surgical gloves. It looked like a scene from Contagion. I quickly grabbed my reusable totes and headed for the south door, feeling naked and exposed with only my iPhone in hand. Without a Clorox wipe in sight, I pulled my coat sleeve down and took my chances lodging a bacteria infested grocery cart from its corral.
Arriving first in line at the south entrance gave me pause. Had I missed a sign marking the entrance closed? I surveyed my grocery list mentally preparing my Cottonelle strategy. Feeling the pressure of people less than six feet behind me breathing Coronavirus down my neck, I felt anxiety grab hold. Like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep I had 30 minutes to scour the store for fresh fruit, snacks, milk and toilet tissue before the shelves were empty. Leaning against my cart stretching my calves, I felt primed and ready to battle my way to victory in the checkout line, as if I'd been preparing my whole life.
"Toilet paper is only available at customer service," the lady announced with a generic bottle of 'All-Purpose Cleaner' in hand. Sighs erupted from the crowd as she stepped within inches of me hastily wiping my cart handle. Another manager fumbled keys to unlock the automatic door and I took a deep breath. It was Go Time!
Hustling towards the fresh produce I sacrificed Charmin to the beeline of senior citizens with sweat on their brow buzzing toward the customer service counter. Everywhere I turned there was a cart in my way, like a traffic jam on the I-5 at rush hour. I had no choice but to hold my breath, abandon my cart, and go. Bobbing and weaving, with bags full of potatoes, carrots and apples, I piled the bananas on top, hoping they didn't topple leaving an obstacle course of cherry red tomatoes in my wake.
By the time I reached the pasta aisle, I had ripped off my wrist splint from a prior running accident. Still battered and bruised, I needed both arms to grab the last few boxes of mac & cheese left on the shelf. Why were shelves still empty?
My adrenaline rising, I high-tailed it to the milk and cheese refrigerators. Four jugs of milk barely last a week with four kids, and snacks, forgeddaboutit! Avoiding eye contact I loaded pretzels, Doritos, Fritos, Lays, Tortilla Chips, Cheez-Its, Jiffy popcorn, trail mix, and crackers in my cart. Four loaves of bread, three packages of bagels and a dozen yogurts and I looked like a hoarder.
Cornering the aisle on two wheels I headed to the wine and beer. Knowing I may be forced to homeschool four children next week I bought in bulk. After all, we're in a time of crisis!
Every direction I turned there were people inches from my topsy-turvy cart. If I didn't have Coronavirus before, I surely would now! Like a survivalist in the Hunger Games, I had no alternative; Safeway delivery was booked for weeks.
Holding my breath, I approached the checkout lane. With only three lanes open and back-to-back carts, I was sure to be chastised for overbuying. "I have four teenagers," I smiled at the lady sizing me up from behind. (I lied, I have three teens, but my 9-year-old sure sounds like one thanks to his siblings!)
Shit! I forgot to the TP. "Is this the biggest size?" I inquired at customer service, snagging the four pack while surveilling my abandoned cart in the checkout line. Nothing is quite as humiliating as begging for a larger quantity of toilet paper, I always supersize so a four pack should last us through the weekend.
As fate would have it, and because I was silently begging her not to, the checkout lady in the '15 items and under' summoned me to her empty lane. "Really?" I mouthed pointing at my cart. She insisted and I had little time to argue. God bless her for working fast and furious as I apologized to the people lining up behind my cart. It was Supermarket Sweep and the clock was ticking. Refusing all of my possible Covid-19 infested reusable totes, she tag teamed with a bagger to load two carts full of paper bagged groceries faster than I could grab the stylus pen with my coat sleeve and douse myself in her hand-sanitizer. A new Safeway record!
Arriving home with hypertension, I summoned four couch potatoes from screen time and headed upstairs. As far as I'm concerned, Oregon law requires a daily 30-minute steam shower alone coupled with a shot of CBD for parents sequestered at home.
"Wow mom, you bought the good food!" they shouted from the kitchen. For the first time I hadn't even looked at the prices. "That food better last us a month!" I shouted.
I'm not sure if I won or lost Supermarket Sweep after $513 in damage to the credit card. Perhaps the rotten orange was my consolation prize. We'll have to start rationing snacks and squares of TP because if I ever go to the grocery store again it'll be too soon. Peace out Covid-19, together we're in it to win!
The empty parking lot at 6:20am was like the Twilight Zone. I breathed a sigh of relief, grabbed my grocery bags and headed for the door with the big yellow sign that read 'Due to Coronavirus, Safeway has revised store hours from 7am to midnight'. Damn! Even Starbucks was locked inside.
Reading the headlines of the day back in my warm car, car headlights heightened my sense of urgency. People were lining up at the north entrance sporting facemasks and surgical gloves. It looked like a scene from Contagion. I quickly grabbed my reusable totes and headed for the south door, feeling naked and exposed with only my iPhone in hand. Without a Clorox wipe in sight, I pulled my coat sleeve down and took my chances lodging a bacteria infested grocery cart from its corral.
Arriving first in line at the south entrance gave me pause. Had I missed a sign marking the entrance closed? I surveyed my grocery list mentally preparing my Cottonelle strategy. Feeling the pressure of people less than six feet behind me breathing Coronavirus down my neck, I felt anxiety grab hold. Like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep I had 30 minutes to scour the store for fresh fruit, snacks, milk and toilet tissue before the shelves were empty. Leaning against my cart stretching my calves, I felt primed and ready to battle my way to victory in the checkout line, as if I'd been preparing my whole life.
"Toilet paper is only available at customer service," the lady announced with a generic bottle of 'All-Purpose Cleaner' in hand. Sighs erupted from the crowd as she stepped within inches of me hastily wiping my cart handle. Another manager fumbled keys to unlock the automatic door and I took a deep breath. It was Go Time!
Hustling towards the fresh produce I sacrificed Charmin to the beeline of senior citizens with sweat on their brow buzzing toward the customer service counter. Everywhere I turned there was a cart in my way, like a traffic jam on the I-5 at rush hour. I had no choice but to hold my breath, abandon my cart, and go. Bobbing and weaving, with bags full of potatoes, carrots and apples, I piled the bananas on top, hoping they didn't topple leaving an obstacle course of cherry red tomatoes in my wake.
By the time I reached the pasta aisle, I had ripped off my wrist splint from a prior running accident. Still battered and bruised, I needed both arms to grab the last few boxes of mac & cheese left on the shelf. Why were shelves still empty?
My adrenaline rising, I high-tailed it to the milk and cheese refrigerators. Four jugs of milk barely last a week with four kids, and snacks, forgeddaboutit! Avoiding eye contact I loaded pretzels, Doritos, Fritos, Lays, Tortilla Chips, Cheez-Its, Jiffy popcorn, trail mix, and crackers in my cart. Four loaves of bread, three packages of bagels and a dozen yogurts and I looked like a hoarder.
Cornering the aisle on two wheels I headed to the wine and beer. Knowing I may be forced to homeschool four children next week I bought in bulk. After all, we're in a time of crisis!
Every direction I turned there were people inches from my topsy-turvy cart. If I didn't have Coronavirus before, I surely would now! Like a survivalist in the Hunger Games, I had no alternative; Safeway delivery was booked for weeks.
Holding my breath, I approached the checkout lane. With only three lanes open and back-to-back carts, I was sure to be chastised for overbuying. "I have four teenagers," I smiled at the lady sizing me up from behind. (I lied, I have three teens, but my 9-year-old sure sounds like one thanks to his siblings!)
Shit! I forgot to the TP. "Is this the biggest size?" I inquired at customer service, snagging the four pack while surveilling my abandoned cart in the checkout line. Nothing is quite as humiliating as begging for a larger quantity of toilet paper, I always supersize so a four pack should last us through the weekend.
As fate would have it, and because I was silently begging her not to, the checkout lady in the '15 items and under' summoned me to her empty lane. "Really?" I mouthed pointing at my cart. She insisted and I had little time to argue. God bless her for working fast and furious as I apologized to the people lining up behind my cart. It was Supermarket Sweep and the clock was ticking. Refusing all of my possible Covid-19 infested reusable totes, she tag teamed with a bagger to load two carts full of paper bagged groceries faster than I could grab the stylus pen with my coat sleeve and douse myself in her hand-sanitizer. A new Safeway record!
Arriving home with hypertension, I summoned four couch potatoes from screen time and headed upstairs. As far as I'm concerned, Oregon law requires a daily 30-minute steam shower alone coupled with a shot of CBD for parents sequestered at home.
"Wow mom, you bought the good food!" they shouted from the kitchen. For the first time I hadn't even looked at the prices. "That food better last us a month!" I shouted.I'm not sure if I won or lost Supermarket Sweep after $513 in damage to the credit card. Perhaps the rotten orange was my consolation prize. We'll have to start rationing snacks and squares of TP because if I ever go to the grocery store again it'll be too soon. Peace out Covid-19, together we're in it to win!
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