In my lifetime, I have only played video games intermittently. My longest stint was a few quarters before graduation where I thought that if I procrastinated long enough, my BS degree would just appear in front of me without having to tackle the intimidating workload that seemed to stretch infinitely long and wide before me. After that wildly stressful time in my life had passed, I never quite bought into binging on video games again, but I never forgot how such binges could steal all of my attention and time, to the exclusion of all else.
Crossing the threshold into my local and beloved grocery store (Fred Meyer -- still beloved, even after Kroger took over) in Lynnwood, Washington this past Friday during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I had a major moment of deja vu. Although I had no mouse in my right hand, nor keyboard under the fingers of my left, nor joystick anywhere to be seen, I nevertheless felt I had just entered into a video game that was to take all of my energy and attention. It was the new Grocery Shopping Challenge, coming soon to an app near you.
By necessity, I took only a few minutes to recognize the limited number of characters in the game and the most logical strategy for triumphing over each, but the sheer number of strategic moves involved in navigating this challenge felt like the two hundred and seventh level of any video game on the modern market. Not that I could name even a single one (of those video games) but I digress.
As the characters milled about, I fought the urge to adjust my mask or to move my sunglasses or worse yet -- to touch my face. Never having been a germaphobe and always striving to be more laid back today than yesterday, it was difficult to remain in high alert. I had developed a distinct distaste for being on high alert. I'd seen enough cortisol released into my body during my adult life to last me a lifetime. I didn't want anymore.
And aside from my own personal objection to cortisol releases, I had to fight the urge to remove the mask and just hug everyone who would allow me to -- that is without triggering anyone to call 911 or pull out a concealed weapon. No hugging. No connecting. Just move on.
Back to the game. The most challenging characters in this game by far were the Phoners, those characters who were in possession of a smartphone seemingly affixed to their right ear as was their attention -- affixed to whatever dialogue or monologue the phone was transmitting. Phoners were remarkably unaware of their environs and amazingly, tended to migrate to the very center of the store aisles, making it impossible to pass by within three feet, much less six feet. They were the very tricky ones and required an inordinate number of 180's.
And then there were the Maskless Young 'Uns. These were those characters under 30 years of age who likely thought that COVID would not hurt them -- apparently, they remained unaware of the latests statistics regarding the illness among the young. Basking in their outdated knowledge, they strolled amongst the groceries, unconcerned about who or what they passed or at what distance they did so. They moved ever so quickly too. Forced to bend, twist, and turn to remain out of the whoosh of air they left behind was not something I was particularly deft at. And, I wasn't getting much better as time wore on either.
And then there were the Masked Old 'Uns like me. These were the characters that were treading cautiously along the surreal scene while deliberately, strategically selecting groups of items from a pre-prepared list designed to limit the overall duration of their stay in the game. Because all other facial cues lay hidden behind their masks, I could only read eyes. The sheer volume of emotions held in blue, brown, green, gray eyes ... would leave me something to think about for a very long time. Anger, sadness, determination, fear, frustration... not a single pair held a pearl of happiness.
No joy.
And then there were the EEs (not to be confused with the electrical engineers which might have been just as bad, but not today, thank you). EEs -- Exhausted Employees. Most were trying hard to keep their distance from customers while keeping strained smiles on their faces that were largely betrayed by tired eyes. Too tired from the daily grind, from the panic buys, from the nightly cleanings, from the myriad of tasks disproportionate to their hourly pay -- they clearly did not realize that they were among the heroes of this pandemic.
I stopped by the seafood counter, ordered my fresh fish, felt grateful, and caught the eye of the lady wrapping my precious cod and salmon. For a moment, we connected. For a moment, we knew each other's emotions, each other's drama, each other's fears. The moment disappeared as quickly as it had come. She moved on to the next customer. I moved on to the next group of items on my carefully mapped list.
Having navigated a multitude of different characters and random configurations of those characters throughout, I hustled my character to the gateway to the next level -- the one colorfully labelled Self Checkout. Quickly filling my bag, swiping my plastic in the correct motion -- I headed to the hand washing station to prepare for the next level of the game.
Treating it as something other than a fast-moving video game. Acknowledging it as the reality of the moment. No Thank You. That would simply lower my agility and overall score.
And, I was determined to score under par (the golf term not its opposite). To look back at this moment and know that I did nothing to spread this virus to another.
Well, that would certainly be a delight to my heart.
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