Washington’s governor has been teasing my county with hints of us being allowed to move into Phase 2. That was until we made the national news a few days ago by having a big ol’ outbreak at a frozen fruit processing plant. Dagnabbit.
The Haircut Phase decision is on pause for a few days. I think there are other now-luxuries that come in Phase 2 (like maybe eating at a sparsely populated restaurant?), but all I really care about is getting professionally sheared. Believe you me, there will be a blog post on THAT day that I transform from Cousin Itt back to my short-wavy-bobbed self! Oh, Patti how I miss you and your expertly trained scissoring.
It’s weird how some terribly abnormal things seem normal less than two months into the oddest time in a century. Like planning errands to be less than one bladder’s worth of time. And socializing almost entirely via screens. And having an utterly open calendar. And attending multiple church services across the country in my pjs with a cat and beverages. And shopping for pretty much everything except produce and meat from my couch.
I am relying so heavily on online shopping, I actually made a sign for our front door. I am grateful for the drivers who are deftly navigating narrow county roads and errant viruses, allowing me to safely lounge in my daily ensemble of yoga pants and a graphic tee (typically featuring a llama) while procuring essential items like remote controlled candles and vintage Troll dolls.
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| I've decided not to wonder how many of our younger delivery people have no idea who this man is or where he lives. |
Shopping over the past several months during this quarantine weirdness has shone a light on something I never bothered to examine before: I am a very spoiled shopper.
In the good ol’ days prior to COVID-19…you know, January…if I wanted an item and could afford it, I simply bought it. I could go to a store, I could browse online, I could consult my stash of Consumer Reports from the last 4 years for the best models and brands. But whatever it was I wanted, it was available. And usually in a variety of colors and sizes. And I could have it in my eager little hands within a matter of hours or barely days.
But that all changed in a head-spinning week in March. That week when the most logical, prudent, forward-thinking response to a global pandemic and weeks or months of warned isolation was to buy a Tuff Shed’s worth of toilet paper. Remember that? The Great American Toilet Paper Frenzy?
Suddenly the most prosperous nation on the planet had widespread shortages. Store shelves were empty, lines were long, panic was palpable.
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| Costco on March 3 -- two weeks before Quarantine started. I live amongst preppers. |
This is not the consumer world in which I have lived my life. I want, I get. It’s really pretty simple. Suddenly wanting and not being able to get has left me whiny and confused and entitled.
That light shining on me was intensely bright and uncomfortable. As truth can often be.
It has been fascinating to discover what items are suddenly in demand as we move through this Stay At Home season of strangeness. Each item that I’ve noticed in short supply has sort of demonstrated the evolution from panic to resignation, from preparations to acceptance, from short-term to long-haul.
In the very earliest days in March, store shelves were quickly pilfered of the following must-haves:
• Toilet paper
• Bottled water
• Hand sanitizer
• Clorox wipes
• Lysol
• Paper towels
• Napkins
• Baby wipes
• Antibacterial soap
• Rice
• Canned green beans
• Dishwasher pods
Some of these made a lot of sense given what little we knew (hand sanitizer, wipes, soap). Some still have me mystified (bottled water, green beans). I mean, our water supply has not been at risk. And why shun the canned corn?
Suddenly elastic and denim sewing needles were nearly impossible to find. And when you did find them, and ordered them online with great satisfaction and self-congratulation, you said some very unkind words to your laptop screen two weeks later when Wally World sent a not-nearly-apologetic-enough “oopsie” email to say your order was cancelled due to high demand. I might still be carrying a teensy grudge.
Around the 4-6 week mark, we entered the “I Guess I’m Going to Have to Do This Myself” phase. Electric hair clippers, cuticle remover, yeast, and flour were in demand. I also heard that baking pans were hard to find. I am grateful I have no idea. I am also grateful for bored Youth Group kids who love to bake and are eager to find homes for their culinary experiments (thank you, Emma and Matthew!!).
Right now, we seem to be in the “In It For the Long Haul” phase. I can’t find inexpensive, elastic-waisted cotton shorts in stock anywhere online. Computer webcams are reportedly nonexistent. And nurseries and garden centers are overrun with newbie homesteaders trying to figure out how to grow their groceries. Oh that tortilla chips grew on trees.
I’ve also noticed shipments are taking a A LONG time. Well, long to the entitled shopper without Amazon Prime.
Companies that used to ship me shoes to try on at my leisure are now taking 10 instead of 2 days to provide me my in-home shopping experience. An Amazon order of a book and a kitchen utensil – admittedly neither urgent nor essential – took over a month to arrive at Woodhaven’s doorstep. And they weren't even backordered.
This is a remarkable shift in how America is hunting and gathering at the moment. The observer in me can't wait to see what will prompt the next phase of “must haves” items. The spoiled shopper in me is hoping this Totally Unfair and Not Fun Time Out will end soon so I can get back to spending 20 minutes in a Target aisle carefully deciding which flavor, brand, and size of deodorant I want to try next.
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