I never thought I’d be on the front line of anything as interesting as the unraveling of American society, let alone the dismantling of the global economy. But as a cashier, in a high-end grocery store placed in an affluent neighborhood, my destiny was and is to witness human blight first hand as an invisible force bears down on everyone during the Coronavirus Pandemic of 2020.

It’s here that I’m gifted an intimate view of panic and anxiety in a group of people that haven’t been backed into a corner in a very long time. I’m not judging the source of the wealth that affords them the privileges to which they’ve become accustom to having in life. But it’s interesting to see what happens when wealth can’t save you from an invisible monster. It can only let you know you have the virus when you’re already on a respirator, fighting for life. But I am no different. No one is safe. And our sense of reality crumbles with the slightest gust of wind when we lose the faux sense of control given to us in the lies of our fathers.

In the first week of the Coronavirus pandemic, I watched people subtly fall apart in front of my eyes. Their pain revealed itself in many ways. I didn’t see anyone cry or fist fight over toilet paper at my store, but I constantly scanned faces that were contorted in anxiety. Movements were quickened and borderline aggressive. The pace of emotions turned manic and shoulders tightened under the pressure of the unknown.

I remember one lady who wore a smiley face on her hat as she tried to send good vibes into the world but still seemed wrought with unease as she laughed at her own jokes. She reminded me of a kooky Aunt at a family gathering. I appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood by reaching out to her fellow human being even though I think she was one hoping someone would tell her everything was going to be OK.

I’m an extrovert, for the most part, until I’m not, but my conversation with her was not the time to be shy or dismissive. I smiled with the quirky woman as we conversed about whether her cats can transfer the virus. The conversation was easy and fun.  We put thoughts about the situation out into the world in the time we could afford, but there wasn’t much we could say. Our words rang into an echo chamber then fell into a vacuum. But, for my part, I think I helped her forget that tragedies are coming soon.

The momentary pleasure I received from my conversation with the cat lady abruptly came to an end as my eyes moved back to the long lines of white knuckle, toilet paper hording, stay-at-home Moms and aloof stock market brokers with clenched teeth. Each one of them waded through my line as if it were a swamp with alligators and snakes everywhere. Some smiled and tried to laugh. Others carried hollow stares and their minds were clearly elsewhere. I don’t remember my conversations with them, but I got a general sense they all thought same thing: it’s over.

A swath of upper-middle class Americans came through my line with the stark realization ingrained on their faces that they might have to let go of their housekeeper, Consuela, even though she has become part of the family. Now, Linda will need to get her own groceries and deal with her own problems. Everyone was heading into quarantine where families will be forced to have conversations with each other. The vaulted ceilings and open-concept kitchens will not provide enough space to escape the harsh realities of dealing with their so-called-life. They might not have known this truth as they packed their carts with unnecessary grocery items – denying other folks that needed it more – but soon it will be apparent and inescapable. Hell, none of us knew what was to come. I certainly did not know what I was getting into when I began working as a cashier some months ago.

I started the job in January after an “artistic sabbatical” where I worked on a novel I wanted to write and finish. And for what it’s worth a manuscript is done. I’d watched one too many Youtube videos about quitting your job and I opted out of a stable career at a company I liked, with people I enjoyed, because of the unshakable feeling that I was letting myself down and deeply unhappy. I had the luxury to jump so I did.

I didn’t think anything of being a cashier or working in a grocery store. It was a throw-away-type-job. I promised myself I would work hard but only for a short while, and eventually, I would go back into a higher paying gig. It was inevitable and obvious to me. I thought that I was past service industry work. I didn’t think that because I considered myself better than those people or their jobs, but in my simple, conditioned Millennial brain, I believed that I had graduated from that phase of life into something else entirely, as if I achieved higher enlightenment or some other bullshit. Oh, how I was completely wrong.

When word began trickling in that the virus had spread to United States and cases were growing, everything changed. The public and personal perception of what I do to pay the bills went from unnoticed to an essential part of survival overnight. My actual contribution to society greatly increased. I became a therapist, a resource and a “hero” instantly. And despite all the stress and uncertainty of my daily interactions I’ve found more self-worth in what I do now than any other job. I guess that’s what we are all looking for in some capacity or another. We are all in search of the things that make us “essential”. You, me, Linda, Consuela – even the cat lady – are in the same boat. I’d like to say the differences between Linda and I are vast, but really, I’m just as entitled as her and I take my life for granted daily.

It took the crumbling of institutions to shed light on the raw humanity and depravity that hides in the shadows of comfort.  I’m a slave to the luxuries of a society that has won over and over again. Everything we have come to know and love is in limbo. Nothing is certain. It’s where we go from here that matters, because this is far from over. And I don’t think I can make it alone. I don’t think any of us can. We’re gonna need to be there for each other during the coming months and years. The optimist in me hopes we become a better society out of this but the realist in me thinks, “Damn it, Linda! Where is Consuela when you need her?”