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After being cooped up for twelve weeks, I finally had to visit the post office for some urgent returns. I had clothes to send back, ones I ordered but never even opened. Let’s face it, during lockdown, who really needed new clothes? I spent most of my time wearing the same outfits: a sack-like dress, a pair of shorts that memorized the shape of my bum, and a worn-out t-shirt with holes in the armpits. For chillier moments, I added the ugliest cardigan ever invented.
The post office is tucked away inside a small village shop, so filled with shelves and spinning racks that it’s nearly impossible to avoid touching something. Not ideal for social distancing, and I was quite worried about what I might find. People seemed to be ignoring the distancing rules now that outdoor BBQs and golf were back. In my head, it was chaos outside, like a scene from Mad Max with chaos on the roads and zombies everywhere.
But I was pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t so bad. I joined a line outside the shop and tried to blend in like I’d been out and about regularly. My nerves made my legs wobbly, so I shuffled into place almost like a baby Pinocchio.
I had to stand almost in the road to maintain the two-meter distance. There was a space on the sidewalk, but standing there meant I wouldn’t be seen by newcomers to the line. Being visible in a queue is crucial here; you nod, smile, and maybe shift a bit to let others know you’re in line.
At this point, no one was behind me (yet), but I held my position firmly. Queuing is an art, and it’s important to make your place known. My dilemma was real: should I stand in the road or hide by the wall near a drainpipe and risk losing my queue spot? I opted for a compromise, bobbing between the two spots, confusing passing drivers. I even crossed the road once to escape an awkward moment, only to nearly collide with a cyclist.
Once inside the shop, my lack of social distancing experience hit hard. I crept in awkwardly, trying to adjust to this new world. Wearing a mismatched outfit and a silk scarf as a facemask didn’t help my confidence.
Carrying my parcels like a robber’s loot, I attempted to communicate with the shopkeeper using only my eyes. At the counter, it felt like my brain unplugged and I couldn’t stop talking. I babbled about the returns, the protective screen at the counter, and even some local gossip.
Finally, the post office volunteer brought me back to reality, asking me to place my parcel on the scales. As he labeled my returns, another customer came in, ignoring the social distancing guidelines entirely, and brought a loaf of bread to the counter next to mine.
Caught off guard by their casual attitude, my exit strategy turned into a logic puzzle. The shop barely had enough space, even without distancing rules. The other customer, talking about deer hounds, didn’t care about personal space, making it even more challenging.
Then the unthinkable happened: she decided to use the counter I was standing at. Her casual “let me slide over” created a tight squeeze due to the small shop space, making me panic.
I ended up scrambling sidelong through the shop, almost like a crazed crab, dodging past the baked goods and towards the exit. One customer, shocked by my antics, backed away from the door. I exited the shop like a disoriented bandit, not planning to return anytime soon. How’s your lockdown been treating you?