After a weekend of traveling, I was reluctant to do my usual Sunday shopping and decided to try to make a Whole Foods run at lunch that Monday. My office is about a half mile from a Whole Foods, so even though I was running late after my morning hours, I ate quickly and headed over. It used to be very easy to get in and out during lunch, but this day I misjudged things.
I quickly gathered my items in one of the baskets with wheels and headed up the escalator to check out. I realized the checkout line was right up to the escalator exit, circling around and back to where the check out line began. I calmed myself down, knowing even if I got back late I could get caught up.
Then I took in my surroundings as low-key as I could. The first, and most obvious thing to take in was the man in front of me in line. He was shorter than average, maybe 5’6”, Black, with an enormous backpack that appeared completely full, extending backwards towards me nearly two feet. Next to him was a white man of similar height, bearded, heavily tattooed, wearing a white tank top with a bandana on his head. They chatted inaudibly back and forth and appeared to be quite an odd couple. The line was moving slowly, and as we circled back in the direction of the checkout, the white man said something quickly and left.
I could put my full focus on the black man now. I suspected he was mentally disabled. To that point I had not been able to see his hands. He held no basket for his stuff. I saw his right hand flicker, and there was something small in it. Now I could see it: an unlit cigarette! Already out, ready to be lit as soon as he got out the door for sure. Nothing for purchase in that hand, though. So, why was he in line?
Then I saw his left hand. That contained two things: a bottle of red wine and his mask! I was surprised I had not noticed his uncovered face prior. My blood began to simmer, but then my thoughts took a turn. Those three things in his hands were all signs of poor impulse control!
This thought amused me. My guess was he was unhoused, carried most of his stuff in his pack, and somehow had scraped enough money together for a bottle of wine for himself and tank top guy to share. I imagined them lighting their cigarettes and heading quickly to a bench somewhere to down that wine before starting their next activity. Yes, poor impulse control. But, was it?
If he had really poor impulse control, he would have already lit that cigarette and started chugging that wine in the store. He still had some governing principles, and, as we got close to the counters, one of the employees greeted him, and they said some words back and forth with her concluding by telling him to put on his mask, which he promptly did.
I had enough stuff to checkout and bag myself that, by the time I got outside, the two of them were gone. I carried my stuff back to the building, through security, and put the cold stuff in the fridge before heading to my cubbyhole for the afternoon. Poor impulse control was not one of my problems.