Reaching for the mask and car keys, I wondered where I’d have to park at the local shopping centre. I wouldn’t want to get caught browsing for non-essentials.
All I wanted was to pick up a modest list of items – bread, milk. Essentials. If Auntie Annie’s reading, I promise.
What started as a blinkered pick-up turned out to be an education, an insight into the psychology of self-evaluation. Because that’s what the government wants most businesses to do – to self-evaluate whether they’re essential or not.
Water. Essential. Housing. Essential. Food from the local supermarket. Essential.
The nail shops, gaming venues and cafes are on a special government list, so they don’t get to play. All non-essential by default.
Back to the shopping trip. Bookstores, non-essential. Electronic games, essential.
Wanda’s fleeting addition with gaming allows me to speak with some authority on this subject. Gamers have heightened emotional awareness. They are absorbed in their work, but things don’t always go to plan.
A missed combination of some sort can see controllers become weapons, propelling across the room into brick walls. Modern technology is good, but not good enough to protect plastic from the consequences of high concrete impact.
So I understand why EB Games might see itself as an essential service. Mental health is a serious issue, and gamers need access to their gadgets.
Generally speaking, bookworms are more gentle souls, a placid being more comforted by a slower, less vigourous journey of the written word. Less essential, it would seem.
Let’s delve further. Johnny Big, non-essential. Lowes, essential.
I am not a small man. I can however, find myself a jumper or a Hawaiian shirt to fit me from Lowes, which would have me think a one-stop clothing version would be more essential than a 46-inch formal trouser pant.
And while I am unable to invite friends to my backyard luau, that doesn’t stop me feasting island-style. To enjoy a home-cooked buffet in a mono-coloured shirt would be nothing short of inappropriate.
Another example catches my eye. Sneaker shop, non-essential. Thong and bikini shop, absolutely bloody essential.
What proud flag-waving patriot of our fine country would dare disagree with that? I’m pleased that any plugger blowout is taken care of in times of need.
There is of course, a long list of incongruities. The chemist, essential. The $5 shop next door, also essential.
And rightly so. It would be criminal to allow those used-by dates to pass under mandatory lockdown.
The government tells us pubs, clubs and cafes are off-limits.
Unless of course we’re bagging a burger from the local “takeaway” for an afternoon binge of last-minute Olympic viewing.
In our thongs. With a new remote. Dressed in our frangipani-printed Hawaiian shirt which had incurred an unfortunate stain from the previous night’s luau.
Don’t forget the buffet of snacks we must consume within the next 48 hours or become victim to a horrible dose of whatever you get when you eat a product past its “best before” date.
You see, businesses know what’s best for their customers. Because they’re at the coalface, talking to anyone who’ll listen to their mask-muffled humdrum.
And they’ll listen back, agreeing at every opportunity.
As for me, Wanda and I agree we’re both essential. To each other. And that’s all that really matters.
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