My Fight For Six (Feet)
I could sense him…
Flapping my untucked Brixton t-shirt tag in bursts of his heavy winded nostril heaves.
I was just minding my own business while browsing Gelson’s variety of spices. I am spending quarantine expanding my kitchen skills. It’s funny how you have the desire to better yourself and impress people when no one is around.
Paprika won’t look the same though, neither will bay leaves.
They must have crept up behind me because my peripherals didn’t pick up any movement. All I saw was Salt. Why are there so many salts? Garlic salt, kosher salt, pink Himalayan. When did salt become pompous and who did the Jews have to complain to in order to get their own salt?
My eyes shifted to the dried oregano as I felt the first sting of something fishy. My barrier door being knocked on by a soft, subtle fist of a germatious mass. I would have answered it, but they barged right in. My noggin alarm rang, my safe zone breached. Someone was in MY six feet.
I should have picked up the ground chili flakes and thrown them in his eyes, but reality calls that assault. I froze.
His eyes gazed directly over my shoulder, his breath leaving his middle aged lungs, his heart beating through his Nike tank top. There was no mask.
Why no mask? I prayed that a golden barrier would form and protect me from this menace.
Adrenaline became my best friend as he reached over me with his venomous arm. Seafood spices were more important to him than a global pandemic, more important than the six feet social distancing, more important than my health.
I winced as he hesitate over a brand. Just pick the brand Steven, it’s all the same spices just different branding. Just pick a fucking brand Steven. Salt, pepper, lemon zest, garlic powder, onion powder. JUST PICK A FUCKING BRAND STEVEN.
He grabbed the most generic. “All that risk for an average reward,” I whispered. He heard me.
“What?” He said.
My vocal response said “Nothing,” but my subconscious responded with a hardy “You back the fuck up on out of here you degenerate.”
My sirens halted when I was sure his body left my six feet radius. I sighed a breath of fresh air but not too big because the air could be infected.
I finished my shopping and headed to the checkout. Standing on my designated X, I waited for my turn to put my treasures on the sanitized conveyer belt. I was in the home stretch, trying to forget the near death experience that just occurred. But without any warning, my noggin sirens went off again. I embraced for another battle.