Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Community

Between the gas cans and Bobby’s truck, it was a little under fifteen gallons. She gave the clerk $150. “Keep the change,” she said. It was the least she could do for all the extra stuff they let her buy. “We’ll be back when we can,” Mary Anne said. “I’ll try to bring some seeds back if I can.” The clerk nodded. She hoped Mary Anne would.

Bobby looked at his watch. It was 11:20 a.m. Time to head back to the rendezvous point at the gas station. It was only a few minutes away, but Bobby expected traffic or even a roadblock. He didn’t want to be late.

He got on the CB and thought he’d have some fun and tell them that they had “picked up some chicks,” which was technically true, but then he decided that this wasn’t a time for joking and causing confusion. Stay off the radio if you can, he remembered Ted saying. So Bobby simply said into the CB, “Bobby here. We’re all set. Heading to the gas station meeting place unless anyone needs any help.” Everyone radioed in that they were OK.

Wes, John, and Drew were heading toward the big grocery store in town. It looked like they weren’t the only ones with that idea. The parking lot was packed. There was a line to just get into the parking lot, so they got in the line, which wasn’t moving.

Wes didn’t want to idle his engine for an hour, waste gas, and then not be able to do any actual shopping, given that they needed to be back at the rendezvous point at noon.

Drew said, “We could just park a few blocks away and walk in. We’ll have to haul our stuff, but at least we’ll be in there.” Wes pulled out of the line and looked for street parking nearby. He found some about two blocks away. He was glad he didn’t have his AR in the truck because he would have to leave it in there when he went into the store. He had the AK underfolder concealed beneath his hunting shirt so he didn’t need an AR.

“I’ve got the cash, so let’s go,” Drew said. They got out of the truck and walked toward the grocery store. The crowd got bigger as they approached the entrance. People were antsy, and some were arguing. A fight broke out as they got to the entrance. Two women were pushing each other and arguing over something. Bystanders pulled them apart. This was going to be an interesting trip to the grocery store.

One police officer stood inside the store at the entrance. He was a young guy and looked very tired. He seemed oblivious to the women fighting, and appeared useless, but he was there to make people think things were still OK. Wes walked right past him with an illegally concealed rifle. Those kinds of laws seemed so quaint right now.

They noticed large swaths of shelves were empty. There were still some things, especially things that wouldn’t keep long. The junk food was wiped out, though. People thought they could get by long on chips and cookies?

John pulled out the list, “Beans and rice.” He headed toward the aisle they were on. He knew where they would be because this was his usual grocery store. They were pushing their way, politely, through the crowds choking each aisle. The beans and rice in five pound bags were cleaned out. There were some one-pound bags left. John started grabbing as many as he could.

“Hey! There’s a limit!” a voice yelled out.

They turned around and there was a store clerk.

“No more than five of any item,” he said angrily. He looked tired. He’d been in arguments for the past twenty-four hours with customers.

“Oh, sorry,” said John. He put back all but five of the packages of beans.

John looked at his list. “Flour and mixes.” He headed over toward that aisle.

Same thing. Large packages of flour and biscuit mix were gone. A few one-pound packages were left. John started looking at his list. “OK, gentlemen, looks like we’re not getting the staples here. We’ll get the other things, like syrup.” They got pasta sauces, jams, and lots of canned food. They were careful to limit things to five of each.

While they were getting canned beans in the Mexican food aisle, a woman was arguing with the clerk. “I’m getting five of the low-fat refried beans and five of the regular beans,” she yelled.

“They’re the same item, refried beans,” the clerk said.

“No, they’re not. They’re different!” she shouted.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the clerk said. He held his hand up as some kind of signal. There was probably someone upstairs watching the aisles with the one-way glass to spot shoplifters. Pretty soon, some checkers came up to the woman.

“OK, OK, I’ll only get five cans of beans,” she said, obviously frightened and embarrassed. This kind of confrontation would have been amazing a week ago but seemed pretty normal now.

John ran out of the items on his list that were still available. He started to put things in that he thought people would want, and things that would store for a long time.

A clerk came up, looked in his cart at all the things, and said, “You know we have a $200 limit, right?”

Oh crap. They probably had $350 worth of food in their two carts.

Drew said sternly, which was a little out of character for him, “No, we didn’t. Was there some sign we missed?”

The clerk just glared at him and walked off.

“Let’s get out of here with our $200 of stuff,” John said. “I’ve got an idea.”

“We split up into three sets of shoppers so we have three limits?” Wes asked.

“Won’t work,” the clerk standing next to them said. “We know you three are together.” Next time, if there was a next time, they would come in separately.

In the checkout line, the checker said, “You know about the surcharge, right?”

“Nope,” John said.

“Everything is double what the shelves say,” the checker, who was nearly falling asleep, said.

“I’ll remember that when this is over and I need to find a new grocery store,” John said. The checker rolled her eyes. She’d heard that all morning.

They checked out and, once they got to the $200 limit, John said to the checker, “You guys can reshelf the rest.” She looked up and said sarcastically, “Thanks.”

“Stick your hand out,” she said to all three of them.

“Why?” Drew asked.

She had an ink stamp. “We need to stamp your hand to show you’ve been in here today. Only one trip per day.”

They stuck their hands out and got stamped with a red star. “How appropriate,” Wes muttered. But then again, the grocery store was free enterprise. If they said one trip a day, then it was one trip a day. Wes couldn’t resist asking. “Is this store policy or some government requirement?”

The clerk just stared at him and starting ringing up the next customer. She didn’t care and was exhausted. Politics really didn’t matter. Getting through her shift and getting back home with some food for her kids did.

John pushed the cart of food they picked out but couldn’t buy off to the side. Wes and Drew hated to leave all that food in the cart for re-shelving, but John seemed to know what he was doing.

They left with one overflowing shopping cart, walking by the cop who looked like he would pass out soon.

How to get that cart of food out to the truck? Wes couldn’t bring the truck up to the entrance because the parking lot was jammed. They’d have to make a few trips.

Wes grabbed a plastic bag in his left hand. “I’d take two bags, but,” he pointed to his chest where the AK was, “I need to have one hand free.” John and Drew understood.

“I’ll stay behind with the goodies,” John said. He had a revolver so he’d be OK. Drew grabbed two plastic bags and followed Wes.

Wes took the lead in the walk out to the truck. This was where they were most likely to be robbed. A pair of shifty looking young men were watching them, paying particular attention to Drew, an older guy with his hands full. Wes sensed what was going on, lifted his hunting shirt partway to show his pistol (but not his AK), and shouted, “Someone else.” The pair seemed to understand and moved along.