The Beginning Of The End

I wait my turn.

I sanitize my hands.

I meander about masked, six feet from other good samaritans.

I push a pushcart carriage before me as I have been instructed to do so by the greeter person who welcomed me in order to better ensure a safe and respectful ‘’distanciation.’’

We have become fellow citizens of the world by virtue of that greatest of equalizers: potential infection.

Brothers and sisters by default.

Sometimes we pass one another pseudo legally.

In the aisles - masking smiles.

The shimmy and the shuffle of our pedestrian kerfuffle.

It might be at the corner grocery or the liquor commission.

Moonwalking a few steps back if only to admire a jar of sauce or tube of anchovy paste one more time before resigning oneself to the mousetrap circuitry of the labyrinthine if sub-pandemic-proof post-modern retail experience.

We do a little dance of respect for one another.

If eye contact and smiling through a mask while trying to cling to a wall display of canned kidney beans or pivoting on a shelf of grape juice from the Madiran region of France is a dance, I have mastered it at every tempo.

I call this little gigue : Respectez Le Bullshit.

I throw a little French in to make it more official sounding.

I arrive at the point of sale.

The cashier asks if I have my points card.

‘’Unfortunately no.’’ Then I add. ‘’Can I get my points online?’’

‘’Unfortunately no.’’ He says.

‘’You know.. ‘’ I say, not pissed off in the least but simply looking for a moment of humanity, I add, ‘’when they made money into a game in which I have to chase around my own god damned change, -that was the beginning of the end.’’

‘’You’re probably right about that, sir.’’ Says the cashier.

He’s a good guy.

I head to the pharmacy. My kids complained that they mixed up their toothbrushes and now they don’t want to use them anymore on account of the coodies and Covid and the whole thing with Covid starts to feel completely, exponentially irrational. Like the fear of using someone else’s toothbrush, ..even your own sibling.. even if you boil it.. you’re still a little bit as the French say: -je ne veux pas, or as the English say: me no likey.

I wait my turn.

I sanitize my mind.

I arrive at the point of sale.

The cashier asks if I have my points card.

‘’Unfortunately no.’’ Then I add. ‘’Can I get my points online?’’

‘’Unfortunately no.’’ She says.

‘’You know.. ‘’ I say, not pissed off in the least but simply looking for a moment of humanity, “It’s funny that I can buy anything on earth online and yet I can’t collect my own freakin' change.''

I’m a rational man.

At least I like to think of myself as a rational being.

At least I always thought I was.

But with Covid I’ve come to question what is rational through a new filter.

Then I add, ‘’When they made money into a game in which I have to chase around my own god damned change with a points card, -that was the beginning of the end.’’

‘’You’re probably right about that, sir.’’ Says the cashier.

She’s a kind person.

I head to the dollar store to pick up a pack of felt tabs for the bottom of my kitchen chairs so they'll slide nice. I want my neighbours to be happy.

I want them to know that I am a considerate neighbour.

What can I tell you , -I like it when things slide nice.

Mask culture is generally relaxed in Montreal. We let it slide.

Montrealers understand about sliding. You have to go with it.

Some wear their mask below the nose. Others go chin strap style. -The most stylish among them can be easily spotted by the devil may care statement that is the ear-hanger-mask-look so prevalent on the sidewalks between storefronts.

Always respectful of Le Boul-caca, I try to pay as little attention as possible.

I find the felt chair tabs and put them in my ‘’distanciation’’ pushcart basket.

I push on.

I wait my turn.

I sanitize my soul.

I can’t help wonder who got to keep my change at both the pharmacy and at the liquor commission.

Of course, I know who got to keep my change.

They did! -Of course they did! That's what they are telling me right then and there at point of sale, masked-face to masked-face because otherwise it would be illegal -they hold you up and tells you, “if you don't have your point card, tough luck, Chuck -we're keeping the change!”

Why should I have to tote a piece of plastic around to collect my own change?

I feel my teeth gnash.

I arrive at the point of sale.

There is no cashier.

Instead I find myself surrounded by a dozen automated cashiers and a single breathing, human clerk with a questionnable haircut stationed center his robot army of cashier-troopers.

If this is the future, spare me the DeLorean.

I pretend I know what to do. (I have no idea what I'm doing with these point of sale doodads.)

I walk up to the automated cashier robot station.

‘’Do you need a bag?’’ Asks the machine.

‘’Okay, why not?’’ I touch the screen adding 1 cloth bag to my purchase.

Fantastic. So far so good.

‘’Please place the item in the center of the bag!’’

‘’Don’t I have to scan it first?’’

‘’Please place the item in the center of the bag.’’

‘’Oh Jesus, this robot is asking me to shoplift!’’ I shout at the clerk.

‘’Can I help you , sir?’’

‘’YES!! PLEASE!!’’

The clerk scans the felt tabs and pops them in the bag. Like nothing.

I thank the clerk for his help.

''Cash, Credit or Debit?’’ Requests the machine screen vocally.

Selecting cash, I slide a twenty dollar bill into the appropriate slot and the correct change appears in the dispenser.

‘’At least the machine gave me my change without asking me if I’d like to perform a card trick.’’

‘’I’m sorry sir?’’

‘’Nothing, nothing.’’ I thank the clerk again for his help adding, ''when they replaced cashiers with machines, -that was the beginning of the end.’’