When all this started happening, I was bemused (vide March 15, "What IS it with the toilet paper?"). People were crazy. And we had plenty, I thought, having done the (perfectly innocent, non-hoarding) shopping before lockdown--after all, how long was it all going to last? I amused myself with the empty shelves, imagining the country swept by a new East Berlin chic. Yet last week RISD announced that it would not be holding classes next year. So  I began to feel vaguely nervous. Even if, realistically, no big (it's not the most essential item in the world, given running water), the idea of having enough for the bunker began to make sense.

Today was lovely, and thus a walk. I thought I would go to the pharmacy, as it's an OK distance and walking along the edge of route 136, you're not likely to meet anyone who will make you go wild with social distancing rage (as in, not likely to meet anyone. Who walks for errands around here?). Also we needed band-aids (parrot training is not without its hazards) as well as a prescription.

But prescriptions can be mailed, the pharmacy is really not where one wants to go even in health, AND you have to pass Job Lot. Which has band-aids. I am not a hero. Reader, I went to Job Lot.

Nice and empty--I walked right in. Did a little shopping, checked out. At the counter, the woman said to me, "Did you see? We've got toilet paper in. Right when you come in."

Of course I zombied over, having desultorily joined the ranks of the crazy. Sure enough, a pallet stacked with TP, right by the entrance. I picked up two packs (I thought I was being modest. But it turned out to be the limit, putting me firmly in hoarder-land).

Really, I didn't have to do this. If you think it through, you might conclude that if they have toilet paper again, and there's no stampede here, that means I don't actually have to buy any. Because they have toilet paper. If you get my meaning.

Back at the counter, the woman went on, "Yeah, it just came in. These too [waving her hand at a rack of pint bottles of hand sanitizer. I added one to my basket. Of course]. I don't think they've posted it on Facebook yet."

When I left, however, it was clear that the post had been put up while I was idly tossing TP into my cart. I was wrong about the stampede. I didn't notice, but the store must have filled while my back was turned at the checkout. Because there were at least 30 people in line outside.

I hunched over my shopping cart, back toward the line, and stuffed my serendipitous booty into a shopping bag. A bit nervous walking past the line toward home. Not just because I had the goods, but because I hadn't worked or worried for them. Let them eat cake.

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