Frankly … social  On the State of Normality at the Start of the New Year

It’s the beginning of a new year. Maximilian Buddenbohm goes shopping at the supermarket, where he notices rising prices … and some everyday kindness.

I’m putting all my eggs in one basket again. I’m going to wait till the last minute to write up this column: first I’ll take a stroll through my neighbourhood, then I’ll jot down whatever I see and hear along the way – that’s the plan. The idea is to see what, if anything, can be gleaned about the present state of the nation from a quick look at the situation on the ground here and now.

The Covid testing station I walk past every day is soon going to be closed for good. That’s what it says on a notice stuck to the jerry-rigged container in which the tests have been carried out over the past few months – or has it been years? The pandemic has wrought such havoc on my sense of time that I’ve become an awfully unreliable chronicler of recent events. I’ve lost track of what happened when and how, and I think many other people have the same problem. I don’t know offhand where the closest testing station is located – I’ll have to look it up if I ever need one again. That’s something I think we all knew at the height of the pandemic.

Lost or carelessly discarded face masks can still be seen littering the city streets and paths. But every month there are fewer of them lying around, and at this rate, it’ll take just another half a year before you might think to yourself in passing: “Look, there’s a mask lying on the ground over there.” That seems plausible enough, at least if we keep thinking linearly, but superstition and experience forbid us from indulging in such optimistic expectations.

No new consumer fads

The kiosk at the main train station, which is usually quite quick to add the latest “trending” products to its assortment, has nothing special on display at the moment. At least I don’t see any novelties on the revolving racks by the door. Ukrainian flags of various dimensions are still there, ranging from discreet to flagpole format. So are face masks, FFP2 et al., white or coloured. But they’re a bit tucked away now, you have to look more closely: I guess they’re no longer in demand. That aside, I don’t see any evidence of new developments, though I’ll keep an eye out over the course of the year. There are several cuddly toys to choose from, but they’re always here, presumably to console travelling kids.

I go shopping at the supermarket, where I see that some prices are still going up. Over at the fresh produce stand, a woman holding a cucumber in her hand takes one look at the price and exclaims angrily, “They can’t seriously cost two euros!” The man sorting and stocking the vegetables hears her remark and says, “They sure can.” He doesn’t mean any disrespect: on the contrary, he means to express solidarity. He, too, disapproves. So the two of them make some more small talk about the current state of affairs, shake their heads in unison – that’s just the way it is – and share memories of the good ole days when a cucumber only cost a euro. But when was that? Some time ago. Are our memories all getting muddled these days?

Over the moon

Over in the organics section there’s this guy with a mental peculiarity, to put it as cautiously as possible, because I don’t quite believe in the concept of mental normality: he’s maybe just more conspicuous in a special way than you and I. He’s one of those people who are constantly talking – or rather, loudly declaiming – to themselves. But he doesn’t leave it at that: he also accosts others, with no regard whatsoever for their partly defensive, partly evasive reactions. Then again, he’s nice about it, oddly trusting, cheerful in a childlike way and awfully talkative. He feels compelled to name every item he takes off the shelf: “I’ll get some juice!” he says, or, “I’ll go for the wholemeal bread!” And puts special emphasis on the words as if it were simply thrilling to buy juice or bread. Juice is just so great, bread is so fantastic – and you can buy all these things just like that. Awesome! He’s happy as a seven-year-old buying a chocolate bar, but happy about everything. Plus he reads aloud what it says on the packaging. “Pitted olives!” He thinks they’re marvellous too.

He’s one up on folks with little or no mental peculiarities because, well, who actually gets a kick out of fruit juice? The rest of us just put some juice in the trolley and feel nothing at all: that’s that, we don’t get excited about it. We’ve already bought this juice a thousand times, it’s a routine that leaves us cold.  But this guy – he’s over the moon. Juice! And very good juice at that, as he never tires of repeating. Everything he buys is good because he has taste-tested all the products one after another. Which is why he’s in a position to advise fellow shoppers in the aisles: “Not that one! This one here is much better!”

A feast

And then comes his paroxysm of delight at the sight of the cheese assortment, including – you’ve got to imagine this said out loud in all caps – VEGAN FETA! He’s only been a vegan for a few weeks now, so he’s still a novice, still practising, and thrilled about anything that conforms to this dietary concept. So now he’s all gaga about the feta, saying – no, hollering – “This here is a feast!”

Some of the other shoppers are smiling, so am I. This definitely is not a feast, we’re just shopping here. Which is a bit boring, frankly, at least it was till now.

The man goes over to the checkout and exultantly tells the cashier – she seems to already know him – about each of his purchases, item by item. The cashier says, “Yes” and “Okay” and “Why, that’s just fine”, nodding over and over again. The man is beaming with evident delight, it’s all so nice and polite and enchanting.

And for a moment there, judging solely by this little scene, I’d say our society looks pretty considerate, tolerant and inclusive, which is why I’m cutting it out here and pasting it at the start of the new year.
I wanted to think about what we can extrapolate from this little supermarket scene... Suffice it to say: Human kindness is possible.
 

January 2023