If the level of anxiety can be measured by the length of the lines waiting for Wegmans to open each day, then people are calming down.
The line outside my store at 6:30 this morning consisted of just one person, an elderly woman staring resolutely at the door. That doesn’t count a few scattered cars in the parking lot, where customers sat listening to the radio and watching the clock.
Although shelves still empty quickly throughout the day, the frenzy has subsided.
Meanwhile, some of the things that made Wegmans Wegmans have disappeared. Self-service bins in the bulk foods section have been emptied. Customers must now buy their nuts, gummy bears and chocolate bark prepackaged.
Same with the bakery. No longer can you grab a tissue and pick out an onion bagel. All baked goods are wrapped, so that customers can’t touch them.
The salad bar, the soup pots and the steam tables are gone for the same reason.
The dining section and the WKids room have been shut down until further notice.
A sneeze guard now separates you from your friendly cashier. (I’m sorry, but the plexiglass reminds me of the bulletproof shields in bad-neighborhood convenience stores.)
After closing last night, as we restocked shelf after shelf, the store was eerily quiet. The night crew turned off the same-old, same-old sound track that has worn ruts in our brains and started playing their own music.
Best worst song of the night: Alvin and the Chipmunks singing “Whistle While You Work.”