This article first appeared on March 23, 2020, in www.carolsmorningecho.wordpress.com

My older daughter is a checker for a large supermarket chain. Just a few weeks ago, in early March, she called to vent a little about how stressful and exhausting work had become. Even though this wasn’t a holiday season, she and others had started working ten-hour shifts with only 30-minute lunch breaks. Shoppers seemed tense and weren’t exchanging pleasantries like they used to. There was a run on bottled water and paper towels as people started stocking up on items useful in a crisis.

Since February the media had been brimming with stories of the extreme measures being used to combat the new, highly contagious virus, COVID-19, that was spreading around the world. Millions of people had been quarantined in Wuhan, China, where the virus first appeared, and over three thousand people on a cruise ship were confined for weeks when an outbreak was discovered. The virus showed up in the state of Washington, carried there by a traveler and resulting in the death of several people.

As I did my best to offer sympathy, it finally hit me—Amy and her coworkers were now on the front lines of a growing world crisis. The public was anxious, even though the federal government downplayed the threat. The quarantine of a world city like Milan left everyone shaken. Americans who had seen the pictures of empty store shelves in Italy were preparing for a possible health crisis here.

People felt the danger, I told her, and the normalcy of the grocery market experience, with cashiers and courtesy clerks who remained professional and even cheerful, was reassuring.

My view of Amy and others as heroes only deepened as the week went by. Now there was a serious run on toilet paper and cleaning products. I was thrilled to score two containers of the few remaining anti-bacterial wipes—one for Amy and one for Natalie who has a new baby.

When the National Basketball Association canceled its season on March 11, followed by a postponement of hockey, soccer, and baseball games, panic buying appeared in full force.  Shelves were quickly emptied of almost everything—milk, eggs, soup, canned tomatoes, bread, pasta, flour. The Los Angeles Unified School District didn’t hesitate long before closing all campuses, with no plan for alternative education. Flights from Europe to the US were abruptly restricted, causing considerable fear and difficulty for Americans trying to get home. The complete closure of Disneyland removed all doubt about the global threat from Covid-19.

Amy came for dinner one night after a long shift—too tired to shop for food that she needed. The anxiety of the customers was “heightened” she said, their behavior like a “megaphone” for their feelings.

When I repeated my assessment that she and her coworkers, more than ever, were serving as first responders in a crisis, she replied that one person actually said, “Thank you for your service,” and she had to fight back tears. Another checker told me that she received similar expressions of gratitude.

There were lighter moments, of course. When one of the new courtesy clerks, following his training, asked a customer, “So, did you find everything you were looking for?” she burst out laughing, “Nooooo!”

The next day Frank went to the store at 6:00 AM, and came home with two large packages of toilet paper—one for Amy and one for Natalie. Later I went shopping for both of them, looking for available items I thought each could use—milk, bread, pasta, frozen dinners, diapers.

The factual news conferences of Mayor Eric Garcetti and Governor Gavin Newsom were particularly helpful. Conflicting information was still coming from the federal level—Yes, everyone who wanted to be tested could be tested; No, our country did not have enough tests for everyone. The straight-forward answers of city and state leaders contributed significantly to maintaining a degree of normalcy.

Amy’s store and others shortened their hours. They also started imposing limits on the number of particular items each customers could purchase. Bottled water was limited to two flats per customer, and checkers were required to remove any items above the limit and put them off to the side. Then signs went up stating only one container of milk per household, one loaf of bread, etc. Most customers understood the need for rules; a few swore at the checkers who were following the guidelines.

I applaud the grocery stores for imposing these regulations. It reassures the public to know that when food arrives, it will be distributed fairly. The last thing we need to see during this pandemic are fights over food. Limiting the entry of customers to only a certain number at a time also promotes safe social distancing.

This past Wednesday, I heard Mayor Garcetti refer to the heroic grocery workers—twice—in a news conference. I was so glad to hear that I wasn’t the only one who was thinking this. But grocery workers need, and deserve, more than just our thanks. They need concrete help in the form of time to shop for themselves (without having to go store to store like the rest of us) and protective clothing while at work.

It’s no exaggeration to include grocery workers in the team of first responders. Not only are they putting in long hours to serve the community, they are facing danger every minute on the job. Even as the rest of us are ordered to stay home and practice social distancing, grocery workers are within a few feet of the several hundred customers who comes through each line daily.

The grocery workers didn’t volunteer for the job of hero—but there they are. Their extra-long hours of service to the community, at personal risk themselves, go a long way in helping us remember that we are a civilized society and our best chance of eliminating the threat of COVID-19 is through cooperative behavior.

Hats off to the grocery workers who stock the shelves, set out the produce, package the meat, ring up our items, and bag our purchases. You are a critical part of the team of first responders in the face of this pandemic.