A grocery run

(Part of an ongoing account started on March 13, 2020 of how the spread of COVID-19 in our country and our government’s response has affected our lives.)

For the first time in days, I am leaving the house to get some meat, fruits, vegetables and dog food. I call the village meat shop to check if they are open and if they are accepting reservations, like they did before the lockdown. 

The person on the other end apologizes. Things are now on a first-come, first-served basis, which makes sense to me. I tell her that I am just glad that the shop is open.

I am pleasantly surprised to see that there is a line outside the meat shop, with those in line standing at least a meter from each other. Once a customer leaves with purchased goods, the person manning the door calls one of us in. At least two senior citizens try to enter ahead of us, but they are asked to wait in line.

One of them decides to line up behind me. I offer her my place but she declines. She understands that these are abnormal times and she is prepared to do her bit.

When I get called, I am given a number so that shop personnel can wait on us in the order that we came in. I am fast about getting what I need and line up to pay, chatting up the cashier who I know since I am a long-time client.

From her, I learn that all of them are still reporting for work, except one who lives in Taguig City. She is unable to get through the checkpoint since Taguig has declared its own lockdown. The owner has assured that she will still be paid, nonetheless.

I transfer to the minimart nearby where I also line up with two small bottles of dishwashing liquid, which are just about what’s left on the shelf. The person in front of me grumbles that all she is getting is an ice cream sandwhich, which is slowly melting by the minute. I tell her she might want to start eating it and just pay for it when she reaches the counter. She laughs, confessing that it’s for her kid.

When it’s my turn to pay, the cashier notices that I have a lot of coins and asks me if she could exchange them with paper bills since she needs coins for change. I realize that the banks are closed so I tell her that I will bring more coins when I shop at the minimart again.

Some of the shops that line
the road outside the village.

I still need to buy fruits and vegetables, so I head for the access road outside the village, which I know is lined with small stalls and stores of those selling anything from rice, bread, dog food, fish, meat, fruit, vegetable, etc. I am not wrong. They are all open and there are cars and people. It is a comforting sight.

I am so happy at the return to normalcy, that I prolong the experience. I walk the entire length and turn around just before it intersects the service road, checking out what is open and available even though it is nearing noon and the sun is beating down on me. I get everything I need and enter the village gate where the streets are empty and everything is silent once more.

When I enter the house, my phone automatically connects to the Web via WiFi. I am pleased to see that I have been added to a Facebook group of food vendors based in or near the village who offer to deliver their goods. I check out what’s available and realize that this is probably how the higher-income class get their goods during this difficult time. The goods range from steak to lechon to prepared food, although there are also fruits and vegetables.

I thank my friend who thoughtfully added me to the group, but tell her I will treat this food resource as a last resort. I think the small vendors outside the gate are in greater need of every peso they can earn. It’s not a charity thing. My peso also goes a long way with them.