Suburbarians -- Or -- Yes, We Have No Bananas
It's pretty. But it does lead to some disturbing sights.
During the last storm, O braved the snow and roads (being cooped up with me for two days will do that to a person) and drove to the grocery store. He came back whey-faced and trembling. (Ok, he wasn't trembling, and will correct me on that, but you get the idea).*
“I just saw the scariest thing,” he said, not-trembling.
“Nasty accident? Cannibals? Abominable snowman?”
“No. The store's produce section was decimated. There was nothing. I grabbed the last two lemons. All the tangerines, oranges, apples, gone. All the lettuce, gone. All the potatoes gone. All the bananas, gone. Just a few plantains left, because they're funny-looking and no one knows what to do with them.”
“No one but me.”
“No one but you. All the baking goods are low. No sugar, no flour, nothing you could use to make cookies.” (Here he did tremble a little bit. I make GOOD cookies).
“Yeah. JIT inventory.”
“JIT. Just In Time inventory. It's how this country is run. All supplies are 'just in time'. Your average grocery store has about two to three days' worth of inventory. Everything is trucked across country.”
“So you're saying—”
“We're fucked, is what I'm saying.”
“Yes, we have no bananas, we have no bananas today...” I sang.
DID YOU KNOW that the late Anton LeVey, head of the Church of Satan, considered the aforementioned song, 'Satanic?' I'm not quite sure what he meant, but the spirit of shortage that this happy ditty illustrates does bring out the little devil in the Suburbarians living 'round these parts.
After the last storm, my neighbor S. called to tell me about her husband. They had plans to go to Costco, toddler and baby twins in tow, but since he was already out he decided to go by himself.
“And I'm glad he did,” S. told me. “They have police stationed at Costco.”
Now, let me break in and tell you that this Costco is Upscale! with all that word implies. You want lobster, baked truffled brie in croute, kobe beef? Then this is Your Discount Warehouse.
“You're kidding,” I replied.
“Nope. People are getting into fistfights in the parking lot over parking spaces. They're fighting over food inside. He says it's scary and he's glad we didn't try to go with the twins.”
“Merry Christmas, huh?”
“No doubt. Peace on Earth, now gimmie that Gouda before I slug you.”
The Lexus Tribe of Greenwood Village gets ugly when it runs out of caviar before the holidays.
Me? I'm off to watch the fire and bake banana bread.
*Technically, the empty grocery store gave him 'the ooogies'.