“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 942 (Saturday) – banshee wails

There is a marathon taking place on Sunday, and signs were posted a week or two ago proclaiming “Baystate Marathon Oct 16 Expect Significant Delays.” The impact of what this meant hit Friday evening when the Emergency Notifications system sent both a phone call and a text message about it. The text was short and the voicemail was long and listed a dozen streets that would have closures for much of the morning. 

It's fun being near city events until suddenly it isn't. There are things I want and need to do on Sunday. Plotting escape from the neighborhood is now added to the list.

In preparation for the road issues on Sunday, groceries were procured Saturday. Anything to avoid starvation. In addition to avoiding the Sunday traffic situation, there was the incentive of not missing out on a coupon at Hannaford for $10 off a $25 order that expires Monday, when I’ll be working all day then at Finnish class after work. When I have food, any other activities fall into the luxury activity category.

Hannaford started out with a serene feeling. The parking lot was more than half empty. The produce department was quiet and the absence of shoppers was matched by what felt like an absence of produce. Or at least, a lot less of everything than is usually there. The department felt spacious, with plenty of room to maneuver carts. 

All quiet in the beer and wine aisle.

The beer and wine row, usually one of my favorite aisles, was shopper free. I didn’t need any beer or wine, so it was just a pass-through point to the rest of the store. Basic provisions were gathered to facilitate cooking and make life less stressful. The cart held staples including pasta, breakfast bars, oatmeal, milk, frozen vegetables, an acorn squash and sweet potatoes. 

Halfway through the store, the blissful peace and tranquility was shattered. A little girl with her hair in a fountain pony tail atop her head, accompanied by a very pregnant woman and a man, was screaming at the top of her toddler lungs. For several aisles, we passed each other, often with the momentarily quiet kid breaking free from an adult hand and running down the aisle screaming. She would shriek extra bloody hell when the man caught her and tried to keep her from running again. 

When we all hit the frozen food section, one aisle over, another child joined the wailing. As I turned the corner, I spotted a little girl in a stroller, in full volume wailing, perhaps in solidarity with the first shrieking kid.

The volume was high. These little kids have some stadium volume capabilities. It felt like an experimental, repetitive soundscape experience, perhaps inspired by the compositions of Philip Glass and I couldn’t wait to escape it, which was a luxury available to me. I felt for the other shoppers, but especially the parents involved, because they had no escape. The wailing toddler banshees would be going home with them, while my destination was a quiet car and a quiet home, for which I was grateful.