Wednesday, September 2nd, 2020

My phone falls out of my pocket and clatters to the floor. Nothing’s broken. The rhythm of its hitting the ground matches the opening drum riff of a song I'd heard yesterday. The song rattles around in my head for hours. At the mall, at suppertime, I try a new, supposedly Asian-inspired burger in the food court. The ad for the burger lists exotic toppings. The only one that I can taste is the grilled slice of pineapple just under the bun. That works well. I’m not inspired to get another one soon, but remain curious about the other items in the new line. The downside is that the commercials for them have Asian stereotypes that I doubt would air on American TV. The food court is still divided by barriers into a maze. It takes me a moment to spot a path from the counter to an available table. Teenagers ignore the barriers and blithely leap over them. The teens with trays who are in groups wait for others to hop over then hand off the trays before leaping. After I eat, I get most of the way to the supermarket before I realize that I’m not wearing my mask. We should have signs saying “Thank you for putting your mask back on” at the food court exits. As I approach the supermarket, I see that the sliding doors are shut. Two young people beyond them are gesturing to me, but I don’t know what they mean. When I get there, they open the doors and talk at me simultaneously. I understand neither. I look at them blankly. The man says, “English?” I nod. The turnstile is broken. People are trying to exit there without paying. “But you are coming in, not going out. So welcome.” He waves me in grandly then closes the doors again. I spend more than usual. I replenish meat, bread, and other items for my quarantine stash, as well as getting some to use right away. Word has it that if the infection rate doesn’t ease off in a week or so, there may be new lockdowns. I’ve been there and done that. I now know how to shop.