I'm sure it all could be worse. My present mood could be a side effect of being fatigued from helping out for nearly 14 hours straight with the Presidential Preference Primary yesterday. And the sore throat that woke me up in wee hours. (Could be from acid reflux. Could be from allergies. It doesn't have to be from THAT.) Or from the frustration of not being able to get needed tax stuff from certain agencies when I've been trying to do this since February. Yet, what am I frustrated and fixated on today? What have I haunting Amazon for all day like it's eBay - only to be beaten out by what surely could only be HOARDERS or POTENTIAL PRICE GOUGERS who just HAD to swoop down and take all that was available of a certain product. All of the remaining 6 orders. 48 rolls a package. 288 rolls of TOILET PAPER in total. My one single order got snatched out of my Amazon cart.
I wasn't always this way. I resisted the urge to snatch up multiple packages of toilet paper when the first rumblings of the oncoming storm. I just got the six MegaRolls. I never dreamed that this virus would cause a repeat of the Great Toilet Paper Stampede of 1973. Even as I grabbed a package of napkins the other day just in case sanity didn't assert itself, I thought this sort of avarice would all blow over. hungrily
But my biggest mistake, my downfall, was talking to others who -truth to be told came off as smug and self-righteous. And these are people who purport to like me. One's even related to me. "This is all so ridiculous" said one huffily. " I always buy it each time it goes on sale so I always have a good supply of toilet paper on hand." This person said this knowing that my supply was relatively meager. And the one who's related to me kept harping on the subject. Going on and on about how he had so much on hand. He spoke about getting a large package for a worried sick friend at Costco. He spoke of other shoppers who had ignored the limit of one signs and plopped multiple packages in their carts. They were SHOCKED when Costco employees enforced the limits. "She's lucky to have you as a friend," I murmured. "So, how much do you have on hand?" he inquired. I was honest. Two rolls -I'd sadly just finished one- and that unopened package. Not nearly enough if I wasn't going to be able to get more when I needed it. He laughed and got smug and self-righteous after that. And teased because he has vast experience doing this as an older brother. It's fortunate we don't FaceTime. He ended the conversation saying we needed to check in with each other more. I fumed as I was attempting to fall asleep which meant sleep was delayed.
The next day, a normally level headed Facebook friend cheerfully revealed he just bought 48 rolls off Amazon. Just in case. "What?!??", I croaked aloud. (Sore throat, remember?) I went on the hunt for a few hours- thinking several times I had success only to get error messages as I started to check out. I've grown to loathe the word unavailable. And I'm also am struck by dejá vu as I formulate my Plans B through Z. This happened before in relatively less dire times. When I didn't have a cat with an unfortunate toilet paper fixation. When I was much younger, more resilient, less fatigued, and not being told by the authorities to just stay home. When sneezing or coughing in public was greeted by concern and "Bless you!", not fear and scolding tirades. When I wasn't constrained by social distancing. When a sore throat didn't spark fear of the approach of something much worse.
I wasn't always this way. I resisted the urge to snatch up multiple packages of toilet paper when the first rumblings of the oncoming storm. I just got the six MegaRolls. I never dreamed that this virus would cause a repeat of the Great Toilet Paper Stampede of 1973. Even as I grabbed a package of napkins the other day just in case sanity didn't assert itself, I thought this sort of avarice would all blow over. hungrily
But my biggest mistake, my downfall, was talking to others who -truth to be told came off as smug and self-righteous. And these are people who purport to like me. One's even related to me. "This is all so ridiculous" said one huffily. " I always buy it each time it goes on sale so I always have a good supply of toilet paper on hand." This person said this knowing that my supply was relatively meager. And the one who's related to me kept harping on the subject. Going on and on about how he had so much on hand. He spoke about getting a large package for a worried sick friend at Costco. He spoke of other shoppers who had ignored the limit of one signs and plopped multiple packages in their carts. They were SHOCKED when Costco employees enforced the limits. "She's lucky to have you as a friend," I murmured. "So, how much do you have on hand?" he inquired. I was honest. Two rolls -I'd sadly just finished one- and that unopened package. Not nearly enough if I wasn't going to be able to get more when I needed it. He laughed and got smug and self-righteous after that. And teased because he has vast experience doing this as an older brother. It's fortunate we don't FaceTime. He ended the conversation saying we needed to check in with each other more. I fumed as I was attempting to fall asleep which meant sleep was delayed.
The next day, a normally level headed Facebook friend cheerfully revealed he just bought 48 rolls off Amazon. Just in case. "What?!??", I croaked aloud. (Sore throat, remember?) I went on the hunt for a few hours- thinking several times I had success only to get error messages as I started to check out. I've grown to loathe the word unavailable. And I'm also am struck by dejá vu as I formulate my Plans B through Z. This happened before in relatively less dire times. When I didn't have a cat with an unfortunate toilet paper fixation. When I was much younger, more resilient, less fatigued, and not being told by the authorities to just stay home. When sneezing or coughing in public was greeted by concern and "Bless you!", not fear and scolding tirades. When I wasn't constrained by social distancing. When a sore throat didn't spark fear of the approach of something much worse.
