Panic at the Supermarket

Posted: March 18, 2020 in Fights, Humor, Satire
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Note: This is not intended to frighten or make light of anyone or anything. It is written in jest. Satire if you will. Chill. We must keep our senses of humor. That said, if you’re easily offended turn back now . . .

Although apprehensive, I talked myself into venturing out into the masses this morning, just a quick in-and-out at the local superstore as it opened for some essentials. Figured I’d get there early to beat the pandemic crowd. Hey, I figured what the hell? What could it hurt? As long as I avoid eye contact with humans and don’t touch anyone I should be ok. I’ll wash my hands when I get home! I mean, how bad could it get?

The answer, of course, is really really bad.

The first sign of trouble was in the parking lot. It was full. After scoring a spot, however, I approached the main entrance. The second sign of trouble was the twenty-something male that ran past me screaming, “Don’t go in there man! DON’T GO IN THERE!

And then, I felt it before I saw it. The panic and anxiety emanating from the store was palpable, alive, actually oozing from the entrance.

As I walked hesitantly into the store, I saw a scene that could only be described as total and utter chaos. Middle-aged women snarling and snapping at each other, grown men weeping, old men in obvious catatonic states, and frightened children in various stages of shock.

It was a scene from a horror movie. Cries of anguish everywhere, people sweating, and wild-eyed shoppers attempting to grab that last 24-Pack of Mega Ultra-Strong Charmin toilet paper rolls.

Immediately sensing impending doom, or at the very least being crushed by a 300-pound Vinton Countian bent on grabbing that last Purell Advanced Hand Sanitizer, I made an executive decision. Scram. Hightail it out of there. Run for my life.

I vamoosed.

As I did, from the corner of my eye I saw a Meat Clerk stealthily crawling into the relative safety of an empty industrail sized box of Tyson 100% All-Natural Pork Butts.

In Aisle 11, women were having a 3-way tug-of-war over a can of Bruce’s Canned Yams.

Over near the pharmacy, a lady in her upper 80’s dropped a much-younger counterpart with a vicious atomic elbow.

Somewhere, a store greeter wailed in the distance.

Although it can’t be confirmed, there were reports of a woman being beaten over the head with a can of Campbell’s Chunky Grilled Chicken & Sausage Gumbo.

It was a scene these eyes shall never forget, because well, some things simply cannot be unseen. The degradation, the greed, the overindulgence, the hoarding, the . . . smell.

It was too much for me.

As I staggered out into the light of day and breathed in the fresh air, I could only count my blessings that I’d survived the mayhem that I’d witnessed.

Imprinted upon my brain is a vision of a young father I’d seen near the store exit as I was making my escape. Our eyes met, albeit ever so briefly, and they haunt me still. I believe I saw his hand reach out to me, but alas, I could not turn back, mainly because I could not touch his hand.

I wonder still if he made it out alive, or if he’s still in there with his wife and children, searching for that last case of FitCrunch Whey Protein Bars.

I guess I’ll never know.

PS- Again, none of this actually happened. I’m kidding.

Gimme a holler.

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