As a universe scrambled to batch adult on water, palm sanitizer, and toilet paper (for some reason), we remained blissfully ignorant of a barbarity of COVID-19—that is, until a infrequent corkscrew by my Instagram feed led me to a summary from Compass Coffee saying that “this too shall pass” and that Compass Coffee was sealed indefinitely.
“This contingency be a joke,” we thought. “Is it Apr 1st?” No, it wasn’t a joke, and no, it wasn’t Apr 1st. In fact, it wasn’t even April. It was Mar 17, a day that a savagery of COVID-19 strike me harder than a waste in sovereign Thrift Savings Plan accounts. Yes, America was strictly in a crisis, and a one place that we could go to shun was closed.
Now, we was in full-on panic mode. we grabbed my ski suit, since that was a closest thing to COVID-19-proof wardrobe that we owned, goggles, and cleaning gloves for a discerning outing to Whole Foods. we looked like a scholarship novella film character, though we didn’t care. we indispensable reserve for my pathogen presence pack and knew that Whole Foods would be entirely stocked with all of a essentials endorsed by a self-proclaimed experts on amicable media. Now we wished that we had listened some-more closely to my colleague who told me that we indispensable to ready for a COVID-19 storm.
Instead, we was left with large messages that told me to continue a charge and to buy toilet paper. Why toilet paper? we digress.
I fast walked into Whole Foods, to a coffee aisle, and my heart immediately sank. There was no Compass Coffee. The shelves were scarcely empty, and a usually code left was one that I’d never dared to try. Here we am, in a midst of an apocalypse, though my favorite coffee to
soothe and decorate me like a comfort blanket. we stared during a dull shelves in dishonesty as my phone buzzed, signaling that a new essay had posted to my news app. Yes, we even downloaded a news app, a loyal pointer that we was in a crisis. The essay was about a pyre survivor who had only died from COVID-19. Another title settled that a World War II oldster had upheld divided from a virus. A third story centered on a new genocide of a 14th-century Black Plague survivor who…wait, what? That final story was satirical, though it should be apparent where I’m going with this. People were failing from a virus, and we was fussy about not carrying coffee. we was being ridiculous. we indispensable to find a approach to assistance those who were truly pang from COVID-19.
I grabbed dual bags of an off-brand coffee, along with a few other essentials, and gathering true home. we unfollowed a self-proclaimed commentators on amicable media and opted for recommendation from medical experts. we reached out to family members, called my aged neighbor opposite a hall, and texted friends to make certain they had what they needed. we donated to internal COVID-19 funds, common articles about assisting students who depended on propagandize meals, and prayed. Prayer is what we needed, what we all need.
During this time of crisis, we was reminded that my place of reserve was secure in request and faith, not in fear or coffee. we indispensable to urge for a strength, wisdom, and insurance to make it by this storm. Like that Instagram post from Compass Coffee stated, we indispensable to mount on a faith and law of meaningful that this too shall pass.
LeRonda Brooks
Alexandria
LeRonda Brooks is an economist and a long-time Alexandria resident.