Let me describe to you what the grocery store was like today.
No bananas, not one, not even a squished, blackened runty one.
Only a few loaves of bread.
Virtually no canned fruit, canned chili, or peanut butter.
No bottled water. A line of people extended from the bottle-your-own water machine.
Extremely limited soda, juice, cereal, granola bars, soup, paper products, and eggs.
And this, my friends, in a city four hours from the coast, where we are not actually expected to have any rain, and in a location with at least eight major grocery stores within a two mile radius.
We all know that the grocery stores are restocked every night. But unless you do your shopping at two in the morning, you have perhaps completely internalized–as I have–the picture of perfectly full, nicely arranged shelves as the normal order of things.
Let me tell you that I was there today for my normal weekly shopping, not needing any of the things that were missing, with almost a year’s supply of food in my home already, and it was viscerally, breathtakingly scary.