Friday, I ventured out to experience the “elderly hour” of 7 am – 8 am at the grocery store. When I arrived at 7:08 am, the parking lot was filled and there were no empty grocery carts. My early hope for toilet paper began to be dashed. There was an “age checker” at the door, ensuring that only eligible folks were entering. I was hoping he would ask to check my driver’s license, but either my white hair or wrinkles gave me away, and he just smiled and waved me into the store. Overhead, there were announcements about food limits, encouragement to only buy what was needed, and kind requests to return shopping carts so others could use them. If the intention was to have small crowds, it didn’t work. But my early morning effort was rewarded with one package of toilet paper and the experience of a lifetime.

I wore my bright pink gardening gloves and fit right in with the crowd who were also wearing masks and plastic gloves. What was most striking was the eerie quiet in the aisles. There were no toddlers screaming for toys or treats. There were no teenagers pushing each other or dancing crazily around. Shoppers were intent on ticking off their lists, speaking in whispered tones to one another, and searching for the most prized grocery items.

The check-out lines were long and that is where our six-feet connections were made. Words like “weird”, “crazy”, and “unbelievable” floated in the air, while acts of kindness and patience were displayed in abundance. “Here, you go first. You only have a few things.” “Thank you, dear checker, for being here.” “Be well.” “Let me know if I can do anything for you.” 

 At holiday time, I love going to the grocery store. There is a shared spirit of good cheer and anticipation of time off work to celebrate with family and friends. This common bond, this common experience, was even stronger Friday. We had all escaped from our homes for a few minutes and it was so good to see others, even strangers. We’re all anxious, disoriented, and unsure, but we’re not alone.

 When I left, one of the “elderly” helped me unload my groceries. He wasn’t an employee, just a kind person in the parking lot wanting to help others because, “what else do I have to do?”.

As our lives have been stripped down to the essentials, there is unfolding evidence that we’re discovering our humanity. This may become the cherished treasure of our toilet paper quest. 

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