THE SONIC BOOMER
I’m currently in the living room of our Missouri home while my husband Mark is currently in the “living room” of our Florida home, the S.S. Marrilee. It’s a cold day in Florida — 53 degrees — but not as cold as it is here — 28 degrees. Yet we are both happy as clams. Through careful research, I realized I don’t feel cold until it’s 23 degrees. At 23, I put on a jacket. Because what I do dislike about winter is bulky clothing. I learned that growing up in Wisconsin.
Also through careful research, Mark realized he feels cold at 71 degrees and, at 71, will put on three shirts, a jacket, two pairs of socks, wool gloves and his snowshoes (just in case he has to walk to the mailbox or something). What he dislikes about winter is everything. He learned that growing up in Georgia.
Today, I learned that the two states do have something in common — storm preparation. In Florida, an advancing hurricane is referred to as “having some weather” by local weathermen who are sworn-in with a vow to say only the words “clear and sunny” for their entire careers. If an actual hurricane targets their viewing audience, they whip themselves into a froth of excitement matched only by overly theatrical WWE fighters. Easily instigated, people rush to the stores for supplies before the power goes out.
This morning, I accidentally went to the store for dish soap. There were no carts. The checkout lines extended down the aisles. People wore rabid looks. I realized that Missouri weathermen must have predicted “some weather” of their own. I pressed the little cloud app on my phone. Yup. Weather was definitely predicted.
I wondered what fear-motivated Missourians would buy in the face of a storm? Certainly not generators and water. They had fireplaces and, soon, plenty of snow to melt. I peeked into a few shopping carts and then glanced at the empty grocery store shelves. What was missing? What was the big thing Americans both north and south could not face adversity without?
And here it is, folks — potato chips. Every cart was piled high with bags and tubes with nary a chip to be found on the shelves. I remembered this phenomenon from my 39 years in South Florida. There’d be a little bottled water still available for purchase, but the potato chips were long gone, even the expensive ones. Money was no object at a time like this. The prevailing sentiment seemed to be, “I may go down, but I’ll go down with cheesy orange fingers.” The chip aisle was bare.
Nearly as bare was the aisle that held cleaning products. This was new to me. I guess that being snowed in is as good a time as any for Missourians to clean house. Or maybe it’s an after-holiday thing. Or both.
At any rate, I soon fell prey to the mob mentality, seeking out misplaced bags of snacks from other aisles and even scoping out the deli for small “accompaniment” bags of chips. I’d take what I could get.
Here’s what I did not seek out — cleaning products. I mean, let’s not go crazy.
