For the most part I am tasked with going to the grocery store for our family. Partly because I have now gone so many times I know where everything is and I can move through that place with speed and precision. Like a trained eel sliding around, following the floor arrows, a chameleon amongst the cans, avoiding other people while I navigate that produce section stealthily picking our fruit and veggies, that my partner will undoubtedly inspect and comment on my selections later at home.
“This one is bruised. This banana is overripe.”
“I’m a professional” I’ll reply “I don’t have time to time to be tasked with such details.”
Then we’ll eat that ripe banana anyway because green bananas are the devils sword.

These days I wear a double mask for my grocery runs. Things feel scary and even more risky lately. I used to just throw on whatever fashion cloth mask I had in my pocket or had left in the car. My car mask. You know the one.

Now I wear a medical one covered by a fashion cloth one. Plaid or stripes or the one with the blue nautical theme fabric that is so soft but the straps make my ears sting when I have it on too long.

Now I’m double masked like a surgeon who got dressed in the dark.

We ran out of miso paste recently which is odd because miso paste seems to last for half a century once you open it. So I added it to my list. After spending more than 13 seconds scouring the aisles for where I would have put it in if I worked at the grocery, I finally caved and decided to ask someone where I could find it. Which starkly goes against my chameleon, slither unnoticed shopping status. Plus, it’s a pandemic, I don’t want to spent time talking to strangers indoors.

Asking through a double mask for Miso Paste with a Trini accent in a Canadian small town grocery store was clearly a challenge. It took four wrong misdirected aisles of curries and specialty ingredients, wasabi and soy. Helpful but bewildered shelf packers. One of whom just said “no, we don’t have that” when he obviously didn’t understand what I said after the sixth time. Eventually after three confused workers and me mumble saying “miso paste” with an unnecessary hand stirring action we eventually found it by the frozen fish. Which still makes no sense to me. But now I know where it is. And when we run out again in 2024 I’ll know exactly where to grab it.

Hopefully by then we will be mask free. Or at least not double masked.