One Small Step

Here’s something I would not have written BP (Before Pandemic).

Today in Vons (still no Clorox, Lysol, or Purell), the guy who directs the next person in the checkout line to the next available register, of course maintaining social distance, pulled his mask down and asked me, “How old were you when that happened?” as I waited at the front of the line.

I was at a loss. He pointed to my T shirt.

I was wearing my Apollo 11 50^th anniversary 1969-2019 t-shirt, because it’s black and goes well with my dark blue plaid cargo shorts.  

I did some quick mental math.

“14,” I answered.

“I was 10,” he told me. (He looked older than I.) “What did you do that day?’

“Well, we had my youngest brother’s Little League picnic that day, but we wrapped up early so we could get home and watch it on TV.”

He pulled his mask all the way down below his chin.

“I loved everything space,” he said. “Check stand one.”

I couldn’t see how I could walk past him and still maintain 6 feet distance, but I hugged the gum rack and braved on. Like you do.

“Every one of my birthday cakes had a rocket of some type on it,” he said. “My family was on our annual trip to Camarillo, but we came home early to watch it on TV.”

I turned into check stand one and began unloading my basket. He turned to the next person in line and said, “Check stand 4.”

I did not hear what personal connection he established with her.