JUNE 20th - 2013
[ PART 1 ] [ PART 2 ]
I always had a nocturnal sleep pattern. Sun goes down, I’m up. Sun comes up? I rather be dead in a deep dark hole with a brick in my mouth--like a proper vampire, you know?
The army loved me for night shifts. My work liked me for the same reason. It’s hard to have alert people on the graveyard shifts. Most people need five Red Bulls and a shot in the ass. I felt the same way when the sun was up. Even in school before I enlisted.
But the rest of the world didn’t run on moonlight. So I found myself glaring out of my windshield at the front doors of the local supermarket. Squinting against the harsh, fresh, morning sunlight. Like I might strangle it with my bare hands.
Instead, I killed the engine of my pickup and closed my eyes. Taking a deep breath and pulling the visor down to shade my eyelids. Take a minor break and muster up some energy. There wasn’t a hurry, I only wanted to get this done before I went home for the two days I had off.
I jolted a bit when I heard an ambulance siren race past the main road next to the parking lot. Grumbling as I shoved myself more upright in my seat. Peering at the time on a phone I pulled half out of the chest pocket of my coat. I lost fifteen minutes. I felt more awake, though.
So I pulled my work cap off and tossed it to the seat beside me. Adding my utility belt, work key ring, and shuffled off uniform shirt after that. Looked into the visor mirror and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Giving my reflection a half offended stare. Cobalt on brown didn’t make the raccoon rings any less poppin’. I’d have to get to sleep at a half decent hour. And take some vitamin D.
Bumped the visor back up with a brief ‘aaa’ screech that rasped my throat and made me cough as I got out of the car. Patting pockets for my wallet and folded up paper list before I locked said vehicle up.
Inside time. Time for the inside.
Brad was right about the TP and things. Some necessities were scarce. Not apocalypse short, but stock wasn’t...a lot when I swung by those aisles. I made do with more expensive substitutes where I could. I hoped this didn’t continue or it was going to be a big ouch on my income in the future.
On my way to roll my cart to the soup shelves, there was an older woman pushing what had to be close to a full pallet of water bottles. Speaking in a loud, hard to ignore whisper, to her phone.
“I don’t think you get it, Hank. They’ve already stopped flights from Mexico. Whatever it is that they’re hiding in the hospitals? It’s big. We need to stock up. So give me your pin--” On she went. Walking briskly out of my earshot.
I sighed and tossed some, frankly, classy cans of tomato soup into my cart and kept rolling.
“So did China.” I mumbled under my breath. About that recent H1N1 scare. Suddenly I was glad I didn’t have a lot to buy. Most of my diet came out of the freezer of a can. Or out of the meat department.
When I got there, I realized I would have to make some stew. Most of the ground beef and chicken had vanished. Fine. A detour into vegetables and herbs it was.
I took everything up to the checkout line and groaned in my throat when I saw the line. I settled into one and put my head down on my forearms as I’d crossed them on the cart push bar.
Couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here.
Especially when the loud whisper lady pulled into line behind me. My only grace, or further torment, that she had moved onto arguing with her husband about laundry and the failing grades of their son.
