This looked like the perfect moment. The Citizens Bank parking lot at the Hoxsie branch was nearly empty, just two cars and one looked ready to pull out. I was about to do my first masked entry of a bank.

I would have gone Thursday but the place was jamming and besides I didn’t have a mask. Three people stood outside until someone left and then the first in line was ushered in. I had called and made an appointment, but clearly things were running behind schedule. I turned the car around so I could watch the door between messages on the cell phone. In another 10 minutes the person I had been waiting for came out. He was apologetic. He wouldn’t have information on the CARES Act until later in the week.

On Saturday the branch looked deserted. Perfect for a masked intruder.

I reached for the neck warmer around my neck and pulled it up over my mouth and nose. It felt strange, especially when the tellers and my appointment were all looking at me – none of them wearing masks. I had the sense not to make a joke of it and jovially declare, “Hand it over.”

No alarms went off.

My voice was muffled but neither that nor my mask fooled anyone to my relief. I could see no one was concerned and now I was feeling rather stupid. I lowered my mask and everything was OK.

My next stop was Dave’s Marketplace to fill the short list Carol had provided since I’d be right there anyhow. Shoppers were coming and going. About a third of them were wearing masks. That didn’t seem out of place, rather I thought it was respectful and a sign they were looking out for others. I pulled the neck warmer over my nose and headed for the entrance. No one gave me stares. The young man at the door clicked his phone. He was keeping tabs of how many were in the store. I was number 27 at that moment, well below the 47 threshold. Another Dave’s employee was stationed at the second entrance taking count. Between them they were to allow no more than 94 shoppers to be in the store at one time.

Cleared to shop and feeling more comfortable with a mask than at the bank, I headed for the Grammy Smiths that looked especially inviting, a shimmering green under the overhead lights. However, buying apples wasn’t going to be easy wearing a mask. I pulled off a plastic bag, followed the arrow to “open here” and found it impossible. The plastic slipped in my fingers. I couldn’t separate sections of the bag.

I looked around. Nobody was watching.

Quickly I lowered my mask, moist my fingers and opened the bag. In China, where everything is on camera, I probably would have been reprimanded for spitting. I made it to the bananas where I stopped. Another shopper – not wearing a mask – stood surveying the display. I kept my 6-foot distance and waited. He picked up one bunch and seemed to be counting or maybe looking to see how many were green. He put it down and picked up another bunch. Finally, he placed the third bunch in his cart.

I found myself wondering how many times the bananas had been handled. That was troubling. Would my choices be dictated by the threat of the virus? It seems that they would be. I picked out a bunch that the previous shopped hadn’t fingered.

I looked at the sticky note Carol had handed me and headed for the pasta. The shelves were just about bare. Gone were the boxes of shells and spaghetti. Another masked shopper leaned on her cart, defeated.

“Looks like we’re too late,” I mumbled through my face covering.

She raised her head and seemingly saw me for a first time.

“It doesn’t go bad. You’ll always have something.”

Now that was a frightening thought – a cupboard full of pasta and nothing else to eat. I waited for her to move on and took the single remaining clear bag of bow ties.

Then it was off to the fish counter. I was greeted with a friendly, “how can I help you?”

“You’ve got great soul,” I responded. She smiled. “Yes, we have plenty of sole.” Or was she saying “soul?”

It had to be soul.

Either way I left Dave’s wearing my mask and with sole and soul.