Story #57

I first noticed him stalking the perimeter of the store. He had no cart, no basket, and no groceries. “Maybe he’s like a mall walker,” I thought. But that didn’t add up. Given his elderly age and stick-like appearance, why would he risk his life to stroll in the midst of a pandemic?

That day that I first noticed him, I was stocking. Each time he passed my aisle, my thoughts intensified. “He’s going to kill me,” I concluded. I put down the box of cheerios and went to my manager in the cashroom for reassurance. I blurted out my fear, “there’s some guy who’s been walking around the store for almost an hour.” My manager glanced up, unamused. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve seen him.” He returned his gaze to the money.

My anxiety grew with each passing shift. I watched for him and caught glimpses, mostly out of the corner of my eye, until one evening when we met face to face.

I was on the register. I turned to call for the next person in line, and there he was! Ghostly pale and balding.

He had something in his hand. It was gun-shaped. I froze. He drew back his hand, aimed at my chest, and then it was airborne.

My instincts kicked in. I jumped and grabbed the banana out of the air.

Adrenaline traveled like lightning through my veins as I furiously punched in the code for the banana. He stood blankly as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Uhhhh good,” I replied, wiping the sweat off my forehead. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” he said.

As he left the store, I swiveled, hoping for an eye witness, to find solidarity with my coworkers, but I only saw hands scanning and bagging.

Shifts passed. I reflected on how I had initially perceived him. I decided the next time I would try to talk to him.

“Next in line” I called as I turned to wave the next customer down. My heart jumped. My eyes darted to his hand, then to his eyes. “Please God, no” I thought.

This time, it was an overhand toss. The banana soared across five rows of registers and customers. I leaned back on my tippy toes, as if catching a touchdown in the back of the endzone.

I could feel the fear pulsing. The sweat. He stared blankly again, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. This time, I broke through my discomfort.

“You see that catch?” I joked.

This question sparked a conversation. He mentioned he was a buddhist and had a doctorate in psychology. “That’s what I studied!” I said with enthusiasm.

As we chatted, finding shared interests, I could see his nervousness. His voice was choppy, tone off balance. His hands shook. It felt as if this was his first in-person conversation in a really, really long time.

“Hey, Anthony!” I heard my manager’s angry voice behind me. They pointed at their watch, then at the long line. I turned back to the customer. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Do you have a piece of paper?” he asked. He scribbled his name and email on the back of a receipt paper.

“I’ll send you some book recommendations,” he said as he grabbed his banana and left the store.

Today, I was bagging groceries for my coworker when he said, “Yo, have you met that guy?”

“Who?” I said.

“Banana man!”

I looked at him, puzzled. He lowered his voice and said, “You know, that older guy that throws fruit at you.”

I laughed out loud.

“Ohhhhhh yeah! I know Bob.”

Unmasked: Life in a Grocery Store During the Pandemic

Unmasked, a memoir told through interconnected vignettes, tells my two-and-a-half-year story of working at a grocery store during the pandemic. The book illustrates pervasive loneliness and despair, genuine joy, beauty in the mundane, fears fueled by entrenched biases, and moments of startling connection.