So, the husband and I hit two separate Walmarts on the way home from our respective workplaces and joined the panicky masses in stocking up for the possibility of widespread forced “self-quarantining.” His cart is the one with the giant bottle of Evan Williams bourbon.
Shelves were swept clean of pasta, canned beans, and Spam. I couldn’t find yeast and flour to save my life. But I did get 15 pounds of potatoes, more than a dozen boxes and pouches of rice and noodle mixes, and enough beef jerky to reconstruct a steer.
Shopping for the coronavirus apocalypse was one of the more disconcerting, surreal experiences of my life. And the whole time, David Byrne kept me company in my head.