These are strange times. Today, I went to Aldi and was pleasant.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
To everyone. The cranky old guy who boomed to no one in particular, "People are stupid."
The woman in her 80s who cut me off at the meat section.
The person, a smoker by the sound of it, who ... coughed!
And, above all, the cashier.
Normally, an impatient monster in supermarkets, a social distancer way before the pandemic, today I made a special effort.
Be nice, I chanted to my inner self, just be nice.
Sure, some shelves had been stripped. And, no, there was no toilet paper (there's a few days' supply left at home). Would it help if I got angry about it? Absolutely not. So I didn't.
Did it make me feel me better? Yes. My Apple Watch generally tells me to breathe when I'm grocery shopping. Today, it didn't. Blood pressure? Normal.
Did it help others? People smiled back. The cashier seemed to appreciate being asked if she was doing OK at the frontline of the panic buying lunacy. People had been abusive, she said, but the company had made it clear such behaviour wouldn't be tolerated. Good. There's no place for it.
I'd watched with a breaking heart TV news footage of the queues of elderly people trying to get provisions at special opening times. I know blokes aren't meant to but I cried quietly as one elderly woman described her disappointment at getting to the supermarket early only to find empty shelves.
I resolved not to be part of that problem.
Earlier, on the morning walk, this new, nice me asked a bloke exercising his dogs how he was coping. He said he was concerned, especially at the prospect of returning to work as a miner. He didn't know where his workmates might have been. And, like everyone else, he was perplexed by all the panic buying.
It was a random conversation with a stranger at daybreak, a moment of social interaction in the time of social distancing.
It felt good the same way checking on neighbours during the bushfire emergency did. We're all in this together so let's talk about it and share our anxieties.
I reached out to friends with whom I haven't spoken in ages. A mate in Sydney admitted to feeling rattled. He lives in Bondi and can't believe the hordes of young backpackers still partying late into the night against all advice. He, too, is now working from home but is keen to get out of the city. He said he appreciated the phone call. We agreed to keep checking on each other.
So that's what went well today. Here's what didn't: I can't stop touching my face!
We've all had the advice. Don't touch anything you don't need to. Wash your hands in soap for at least 30 seconds. Keep 1.5 metres from everyone.
Don't touch your face.
Easier said than done. Even taking the electric shaver to the beard hasn't helped. Every few seconds, I catch myself mussing my hair, touching my chin, my nose, my ears. It's a dumb animal habit I can't seem to shift.
Short of popping down to the vet to get one of those plastic cones with which we've tortured our post-operative pets, or wearing my motorcycle helmet at all times, I'm at a loss.
Any suggestions?
john.hanscombe@austcommunitymedia.com.au