by Pa Rock
Survivor
This past Monday (Memorial Day), late in the day, I ventured into town to buy a few groceries. There is no "curbside" pickup or home delivery in my small town, so when I do wrap up and go shopping, it is with the intent to buy as much as possible - and to shop at times when the store is likely to be the least crowded. Late in the day on a holiday sounded like a good time to go shopping.
There weren't many people at the store, as I had hoped, but of the few roaming the aisles, most were not masked. None of the children in the store were wearing masks, and, as a former state child protection worker, I found that to be particularly grating.
(I suspect that our governor, a Republican politician named Mike Parson, had a committee formed for the express purpose of protecting parents who fail to protect their children from the deadly virus. The absence of face masks in public places clearly endangers every American - except perhaps Donald Trump - to whom Governor Parson sucks up unrelentingly.)
But this piece isn't intended to discuss child abuse or sleaze ball Missouri politics. Today I want to talk about hoarding.
While I was at the store last Monday I bought a twelve-pack of toilet paper, even though I have plenty already. The store seemed to have a large supply with an abundance on display, and so I thought "Why not?" In fact, whenever the opportunity presents itself over the coming weeks I will add to my supply of toilet paper - one package at a time. Paper towels, too. I won't be clearing out store shelves, but if there is plenty available, I'll have another, thank you very much.
I also bought hand soap and laundry detergent, neither of which I needed, but all of which would keep until I did need it.
I was hoarding - light hoarding - but hoarding nonetheless. Here is my reasoning for behaving in such a socially malignant manner:
Survivor
This past Monday (Memorial Day), late in the day, I ventured into town to buy a few groceries. There is no "curbside" pickup or home delivery in my small town, so when I do wrap up and go shopping, it is with the intent to buy as much as possible - and to shop at times when the store is likely to be the least crowded. Late in the day on a holiday sounded like a good time to go shopping.
There weren't many people at the store, as I had hoped, but of the few roaming the aisles, most were not masked. None of the children in the store were wearing masks, and, as a former state child protection worker, I found that to be particularly grating.
(I suspect that our governor, a Republican politician named Mike Parson, had a committee formed for the express purpose of protecting parents who fail to protect their children from the deadly virus. The absence of face masks in public places clearly endangers every American - except perhaps Donald Trump - to whom Governor Parson sucks up unrelentingly.)
But this piece isn't intended to discuss child abuse or sleaze ball Missouri politics. Today I want to talk about hoarding.
While I was at the store last Monday I bought a twelve-pack of toilet paper, even though I have plenty already. The store seemed to have a large supply with an abundance on display, and so I thought "Why not?" In fact, whenever the opportunity presents itself over the coming weeks I will add to my supply of toilet paper - one package at a time. Paper towels, too. I won't be clearing out store shelves, but if there is plenty available, I'll have another, thank you very much.
I also bought hand soap and laundry detergent, neither of which I needed, but all of which would keep until I did need it.
I was hoarding - light hoarding - but hoarding nonetheless. Here is my reasoning for behaving in such a socially malignant manner:
- Going to town and to the store is more than just a bother, it is a health-threatening experience;
- We currently seem to be in a season of plenty, and supplies appear to have come back and stabilized;
- Round two is coming and it's going to be bad. If I have stocked all of my personal supplies carefully and in advance, I will avoid the inevitable pig-push when things start to get crazy;
- Public consumption helps grow the economy; and,
- If there is a tragedy or an emergency, I will have the means to share with those in need.
I'm not intending to sell high-priced toilet paper over the internet or open a price-gouging country store, but I would like the satisfaction of knowing that even in a time of plague I could still meet certain standards of personal cleanliness without running to the barn in search of corncobs or mail-order catalogues!
Also on my grab-an-extra list: pet food, canned goods (especially canned meats), nuts, dried fruits, hand-sanitizer, toothpaste, and, of course, chocolate!
You quarantine your way, and I'll quarantine mine!
No comments:
Post a Comment