Hunting/ Gathering in the Time of Coronavirus

I am now part of the hunter-gatherer society. Don’t worry, I am not roaming around with a weapon in search of a deer to shoot. But two days ago, I did forage for food. Since we are senior citizens in the time of coronavirus that means I ordered groceries from Whole Foods from my iPad.

Finding the items we wanted and clicking on them to put them in my virtual cart took approximately an hour. Some of that had to do with the slowness of my iPad or of our internet. Or both.  I’d rather not admit it, but perhaps some of it also had to do with my clumsy fingers.

An example--it took multiple clicks, at least for me, to get an item in the basket. Then I got to the screen that said which items were not available. And I had to go back and see if I could find something else to substitute. This also took me substantial time but I was proud of myself for being so capable as a coronavirus virtual-shut-in.

The real issue occurred when I went to select a delivery or pick up time. No time slots appeared available for the next several days. And I, the virtual shopper, could not proceed to any later dates. The message appeared, “check back regularly and see if any times or dates open up in the future”. So that is what I did.

In between anything else I was doing that day I checked my Whole Foods order to see if any delivery or pick up slots had opened up. By dinner time I was about to quit checking when suddenly a delivery slot for that night between 9 and 11 PM opened. I immediately scooped up the available slot, added a tip and danced around our kitchen. I was a successful gatherer in these times of coronavirus!

I also accepted Amazon’s suggestion that I sign up for text messages on the status of my order since it included fresh items that needed to be refrigerated immediately upon delivery.

I found my spouse puttering around another room and shared my success story. He did not mimic my happy dance. Instead he responded,

“What were you thinking? Who wants groceries delivered at 11PM at night?”

I refrained from complaining how he had failed to notice I’d spent the whole day trying to get these stupid groceries for pick up or delivery. Instead I said,

“We do. Be happy you are married to a successful

gatherer.”

Luckily, we have those kinds of open, honest, spousal communications.

Later that evening, as we made and ate our dinner from what we already had in store, I received numerous text messages. Some told me about the status of other Amazon packages I had ordered over the last few weeks. Some for other family members or friends, some for us.

Interspersed with the truly boring details of other orders, such as that two bottles of shampoo and contact lens solution were getting ready to be shipped in a few days, I also received real time details on where our fresh food delivery driver was. I was able to follow his or her route around a nearby and then our neighborhood.  Earlier than originally promised and at about the same time our collie’s ears perked up, I received a notice that our groceries had been delivered. Our collie is at least as good, actually better, than the Ring Doorbell in letting us know someone or something is on the porch.

We waited until the driver was no longer on our stoop but safely back in his or her car to open the front door and start carrying the stapled, heavy- duty paper bags into our kitchen.

We emptied everything from the bags, and since we weren’t sure what might be contaminated, washed our hands repeatedly in the process as we unpacked and put groceries away.

As we did so I was a little startled to see what exactly had and had not been delivered. No eggs, even though I had ordered two dozen and had not gotten a notice that they were not available. Or at least I thought I had. Almost four pounds of ground beef were delivered even though I thought I’d ordered one pound. Two GIANT boxes of fresh spinach when I thought I’d ordered one box. But not some of the other vegetables I remembered ordering. Four packages of Italian sausage when I thought I’d ordered one. One can of crushed tomatoes, even though I thought the notice had said they were out of crushed tomatoes. And so on.

As we assessed the situation, we decided it would work out. We froze most of the meat. And looked up recipes for fresh spinach and Italian sausage or ground beef.

As I was wiping down all surfaces with my improvised disinfecting method, a paper towel soaked in rubbing alcohol, a thought occurred to me. Perhaps Whole Foods had not erred at all. Perhaps a more likely a scenario was that my multiple clicks on my iPad had instead resulted in the mass quantities of some items, as well as the absence of other items.

As we eat spinach with every meal during the next few weeks, I’m hoping our teeth don’t turn green. I also suppose I need to reassess my self-rating as a coronavirus-gatherer extraordinaire.

Maybe next I’ll take up hunting.