Fear and hoarding in Villecomtal

My friend, Mr. X, left his native land to come and stay as isolated as he could in his refuge at the French countryside. He is a cautious man, and thus obeys the rules of confinement to the letter. He did have to go get some groceries, though, and the lines outside supermarkets can be very long; not more than 10 people are allowed in at a time. So he was standing there, queuing like a Brit (the norther you go in Europe, the more orderly queuing you'll find, unlike our French and, say, Italian counterparts), minding his own business. The wind was cold and he was standing in the shade, so he moved a bit toward the sunny spot right next to him. 
"Almost got my face bashed in", he sighed afterwards, "some guy thought I was jumping the queue, started waving his fists and threatened me with physical violence". 

I was yelled at as well, for bringing home a take-away pizza from our local restaurant. They had to close, but could remain open for take-away. I don't know about you, but when you're spending your days in quarantine, thinking various apocalyptic thoughts and listening to your kids scream out of sheer boredom, a take-away pizza does not sound bad at all. So I took a pizza home and was deliriously happy eating food prepared by someone else. Not that I mind cooking, in fact I love it and can proudly state I manage it well indeed. It's just that when you can no longer go to a restaurant, all of a sudden, the thought of restaurant food becomes more tempting as ever, forbidden fruit syndrome and all.

So I casually mentioned our friendly village grocers how much I had enjoyed eating a take-away pizza. Just to talk about something else than our nemesis the Corona for a while. Like Mr. X, minding my own business, searching for a bit of comfort. And like him, immediately attacked. A village guy, previously very friendly toward me and the family, started yelling from the top of his lungs. "So they sell pizza to go, do they! And you go and buy some, do you? Well, it's because of connards like that we're all going to DIE! (Connard, as it turns out, is not that forthright to translate. The online dictionary suggests either "asshole", "shithead" or "motherfucker" as the most appropriate translation.) I looked at the guy, fuming now. "Man, you're just plain exaggerating", I told him, shaking my head. " The pizza guys are by law allowed to sell their pizza. I for one am very glad they do."
"Well, I hope you're still glad when you're kids are dying, gasping for air in a hospital in front of you!" the guy yawped, red now. "Now you're inducing panic", I hissed from between my teeth, "and that is not a correct thing to do". I was trying to stay calm and turned away to leave. The hell if I was going to get mad over a damn pizza. "You're no longer welcome at my home!" the guy screamed after me.

This was a week ago, week 1, and 2 days into the quarantine. Now we're at week 2. I just got back from the village grocery store. Sylvie, my friend the grocer, shook her head at my question when I asked if she had any eggs. "No eggs available. There are beginning to be more and more holes on the shelfs", she whispered. She pointed at the newspaper headline. France pleads any able-bodied person to help farmers. 

That felt strange. As a poor metro-tunnel singer  (see blog postings from the years 2011) I used to have so little money I counted cents to buy a loaf of bread, so I've lived with meager means before. This is the first time I've seen a slightest sign of a food shortage in my life, a food shortage that isn't my of own doing, that is. I'm 44 years old. Somehow I feel this will not be the last time.

Now, some of this aggressive behavior can be construed as just ye olde consumerist withdrawal symptoms. We have been told for so long to spend our days working and our free time shopping that it has become the norm. Sure, it's hard to look back at one's life and realize it's been nothing but an elongated shopping spree. It's even harder to change, since it would mean a change in what we call the western way of life. 

But if epidemics are to become the new normal, the food shortages, the fear and hoarding, the name calling and fist-waving at the grocery store, what will the western values become? How fast can they change, and into what? In my crystal ball, I do see one thing. I see hoards of people leaving big cities to look for those values in the countryside. 

Welcome to the second week in quarantine.