(Written in September 2013, but the text remains current in 2015).
“The milk is running out and I have not found anymore, anywhere”. “That sucks”, I replied. “I’ll check on another supermarket”.
Walking rushed steps through the hallways among carts and people. “Excuse me, excuse me”.
Suddenly, there’s a hand written paper: “5 Pastoreñas per person”. It is missing a PS that reads: “We are well aware that this is a shitty situation, but there is nothing we can do about it. Please, have the kindness to understand us, and don’t make a scene, ok? Thank you”.
But there are no Pastoreñas, delicious milk made in Venezuela. The shelf is packed with products brought from Ecuador, Peru, or Uruguay.
The sign says Pastoreñas, not Surlat. I take a look around. There aren’t any supermarket workers. A lady looks at me, her eyebrows giving me authorization. In three seconds, I grab two large boxes filled with milk cartons and put them in my cart.
I encounter a long line. If I had a sheet, I’d cover the two boxes. I imagine the thoughts of those around me that clearly do not approve of my actions: “hoarder, selfish”.
Finally it’s my turn. I take out the large heavy boxes. The cashier says no word. I pay.
I am already inside my car; pure bliss. I smile and make a call filled with good news.
Wait a minute…what?