With the country reeling in the grip of the Chinese Wuhan Communist Death Monster, grocery-shopping at our local supermarket–sorry, I should say “supermarkets,” because now we’ve got to go to more than one–is getting to me, big-time.
It’s like being poor, only you still have money. You just can’t use it to buy the things you want because they aren’t in the store. It got a primal scream out of me today. Don’t worry–I was alone in my car.
The reason I was in the car was because I had to go back to the store. We needed some sliced roast beef, but the deli department wasn’t working. Instead, they had everything in a “grab and go” bin. And what I grabbed turned out to be wrong, so I had to go back. This time they served me some roast beef because their boss wasn’t looking.
But I also had to go to Whole Foods, for lettuce and paper towels. They only had past-lives recycled paper towels, which cost a mint, and no organic iceberg lettuce at all. And if you needed toilet paper–well, you know about toilet paper. There ain’t any to be had.
This is indescribably tiresome. The folks at the supermarkets are doing their best, and I’m grateful to them. But they can’t sell me what they don’t have.
It would be nice if I could believe any of the reports I find in our free and independent press, whose only mission in life is to help Democrats get back into power. The reports run the gamut from “We’re all gonna die!” to “It’s no big deal and the country’s overreacting,” plus every conceivable position in between. It makes for a rather surreal ambience.
I can only pray it’ll be over soon.