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The Terrible Shopper

Jennifer Shneiderman

    Evelyn tried unsuccessfully to hide her displeasure as she combed through the grocery bags. Since she had retired and her husband had passed away, her weekly shopping had been a highlight. Evelyn drove to the shops every week in her immaculate Lexus, her nails polished and, although in her early 80s, her still statuesque figure dressed in jewel-toned silk pantsuits. She called the butcher at the farmer’s market by name and she knew to get up bright and early when the best seafood was delivered to the local fish market. Evelyn was very particular about quality produce and she took her time choosing ripe, in-season fruits and vegetables. Generally, she stuck to low-sodium food as she took pills for high blood pressure. She particularly loved going to Costco, scooping up their premium salmon and visiting the sample stands sprinkled throughout the massive store.
    With the onslaught of COVID-19, the joy of shopping had been ripped away, and Evelyn suddenly went from lonely widow to shut-in. People over 65, especially those with pre-existing conditions, were advised to stay home. Evelyn’s condition fit both of those categories. Now, she was at the mercy of her grandson Bill’s anemic attempts at marketing, and she wasn’t happy about it.
    Evelyn refused to do online shopping because she wouldn’t trust the corporations with her credit card number. So, she endured Bill’s hurried and bungling attempts at procuring essentials. He frequently bought the wrong size, flavor or brand. He purchased mushy apples, salted crackers and off-brand packages of tortillas. Today, once again, when he dropped off the bags and stood six feet away from her door, Bill gave his grandmother a wry smile and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. Inwardly, he cringed while she slowly shook her head. Even through her mask, her could sense her distaste and disappointment.
    After dropping off his grandmother’s groceries, Bill sat in his Prius outside of her house for a while. His stomach churned with resentment at her obvious judgment; he knew he could never meet her standards. Despite that, he was determined to shop for her every week. She didn’t know the silence and tension that now shrouded her favorite grocery stores—the furtive movements of the customers, the fear in their eyes when someone got too close with their cart, the stomach drop when seeing the shelves cleared of toilet paper and cleaning products. Long lines, limited product choice, empty shelves and intermittent violence dominated the news. But none of that coverage could quite convey the underlying feeling of strangeness, competition and sense of desperation—the prickling sensation that the fabric of human decency was shredding in front of one’s very eyes. If he could help it, she would never experience this. He would rather she think he was just a terrible shopper.

This piece first appeared in Montana Mouthful’s “Quarantine” issue, Issue 8, October 19, 2020.

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