So much of my life is like walking uphill. I drove to a
store I'll call Kroger Universe, to differentiate it from a regular Kroger store. Kroger stores helped put
Mom & Pop bookstores, toy stores and
drug stores out of business by including entire aisles of nonfood items. Kroger
Universe would like us to buy dishes, pots and pans, furniture and oodles of
toys. Plants and gasoline too. They'd
like us to live there. There are tables and free newspapers next to the deli
counter. The magazine rack is next to a Starbucks kiosk. The aisles are wide enough that even a woman with 4
children can't block one entirely. It is well lit. There's no feeling of
impending crushing by towering shelves.
But the air exchange ratio is still inadequate, and by the
time I get to the back of the store, my ability to concentrate is gone. My friend
is speaking. I know this. She is uttering words that are meant to have a
meaning for me, and I am pulled away. Two aisles over, I find it: a display of
Cheez-its. I haven't eaten Cheez-its in years. Guilt. Empty calories. Cheesy crunchy, with a load of additives and
preservatives. But the pricing system is too much for my increasingly fogged
brain. It looks as if I have to buy 10 boxes at an inflated price to get one
box at reasonable price. I wander off to
find my friend, who tries to explain the system and sends me back for the
product.
People insert themselves between me and the places I want to
be. The cracker aisle is nowhere near
the cheese aisle, and I remember that I wanted Jarlsberg cheese. There is a Jarlsberg sample
plate, but it's not near the Jarlsberg. If the store actually sold Jarlsberg. I
found the cracker aisle and picked up a Cheez-it box at random.There are many flavors to choose from. Lost in a time warp, I fight my way back to the
checkout, where my friend is almost done. The person ahead of me had plastic
card problems. Neither debit nor credit worked. She laboriously counted out
actual money.
Once freed from the store, I realize that every muscle is
vibrating like rubber bands that have been stretched almost to breaking. It's
hard to think. I am anxious and irascible. I snarl at cars. We made it back to
her house without incident, if you don't count my missing her street and having
to circle back.
By this time it is 5:30 and I am in a full blown "panic" attack, every nerve
on edge, muscles twanging. I'm getting to be an old hand at this. I know that it
is not actually panic because my mind is not racing. This is simply a chemical
reaction to all the toxins outgassed in the average underventilated store. I reached
for Coca-cola, whose familiar flavor and bubbles breaking against my teeth has a calming effect. By 7, I was
on my way home, agitated but not dangerous to myself or others.
I was owl-eyed until 3:30. Online, I respond to everything with angry logic, ranting in a
fashion that is amusing in QI's David Mitchell but which is probably annoying
coming from me.
Today the adrenaline surge is much less, but I am still on
edge. I am eating Cheez-its, hoping that the starch and preservatives will cloud my mind
and soothe jangling nerve endings. It is a forlorn hope. Following through on
thoughts is almost impossible. The strawberries, red, shiny and crunchy when I
bought them several days ago, have gone less crunchy. I should hull and slice
them and toss them in a box with a tablespoon of sugar to make them weep. If I
don't, the crunchy strawberries will go
directly to slime and need composting. It seems too complex. Eating seems too
complex.
This is my life. When I go into stores, my muscles go on fast forward and my mind is
tossed into reverse. No amount of
rationalization, no dialectical behavior therapy can stop this. Fight, fight, fight. Fight the twanging
muscles by going out into the sun, fight the sluggish brain that aches. My drugs
of choice are books and Coca-cola, both of which are street legal. But so is
underventilating stores and airplanes. Isn't life a kick?
